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GLIMPSES into the WORLD 


OF 


SCIENCE 


EDITED BY 


/ 


MARY GEISLER PHILLIPS, B.S. 

AUTHOR OP “ANT HILLS AND SOAP BUBBLES,’’ 
“HONEY BEES AND FAIRY DUST,” ETC. 


AND 


/ 


WILLIAM HENRY GEISLER, B.S. 

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH, WEST PHILADELPHIA 
HIGH SCHOOL, PHILADELPHIA 



D. 


BOSTON 

ATLANTA 


C. HEATH AND COMPANY 

CHICAGO 
DALLAS 



NEW YORK 
SAN FRANCISCO 
LONDON 












Copyright, 1929, 

By D. C. Heath and Company 


/ 


2 F 9 


O -J 

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9 V & 


©CIA 12075 V 




AUG 


PRINTED IN U.S.A. 


31 1323 


PREFACE 


T HE slow and painful growth of scientific knowledge 
is like that of a tree, the increased height and 
girth and strength of which can scarcely be traced 
from day to day. There are three distinct phases in 
this development: first, the weak seedling puts out 
tiny rootlets in all directions to assimilate nourish¬ 
ment; so in science, miscellaneous facts are collected 
and added to the knowledge that has gone before to 
form theories. Secondly, this body of knowledge 
gradually pushes up into the light, with layers of 
growth being added as small principles are perceived 
which correlate with others, until we have them welded 
into one general law. Finally we come to the branches 
and leaves, as these laws are worked out in fine detail, 
and often we see the tree flowering magnificently into 
the beauties, safeguards, comforts, and conveniences 
of this age of scientific discovery. 

In this book we have tried to let the reader have a 
glimpse of science in all three stages of development, 
and also to give some idea of the infinite patience, 
clear, hard thinking, accuracy of experimentation, and 
heroic living that are by-products of the progress of 
scientific thought. There has been no attempt to 
cover all branches of science, but the chief aim has 
been to find articles which would arouse and hold the 
interest of young people. The emphasis has next been 
placed upon good English and upon having specialists 


iv PREFACE 

speak for their own branches of science. The intro¬ 
ductions are to furnish an enlightening background 
for the articles themselves. 

Thanks are due the many friends who gave us valu¬ 
able suggestions and who helped in many other ways. 

Mary Geisler Phillips 
William Henry Geisler 


CONTENTS 


Preface .iii 

Galileo Galilei, Founder of Experimental 

Science. Ivor B. Hart . 1 

The Chemical Factory in the Green Leaf. 

Beverly L. Clarke .26 

The Planets and the Moon. Samuel Pierpont 

Langley .38 

The Story of Pasteur. Mary Geisler Phillips . . 57 

Memoir on the Organized Corpuscles Which 

Exist in the Atmosphere. Louis Pasteur . . 63 

The Importance of Dust. Alfred Russel Wallace . 75 

The Energies of Men. William James .... 89 

Primeval Man. Worthington G. Smith . . . . Ill 

The Sense of Smell. Ellwood Hendrick . , . 125 

Greenness and Vitamin “ A ” in Plant Tissue. 

John W. Crist and Marie Dye .138 

Honey, Nature’s Sweet. Everett Franklin Phillips . 150 

Ants. Henry C. McCook .166 

Birds. J. Arthur Thomson .201 

Bird Migration. Wells C. Cooke .216 

The Bloodthirsty Piranha. Theodore Roosevelt . 234 

Franklin as a Scientist. Mary Geisler Phillips . 250 

Notes from Correspondence. Benjamin Franklin . 255 

Letters of a Radio Engineer to His Son. John Mills 273 
Agassiz at Penikese. David Starr Jordan . . . 295 

Ice-Period in America. Louis Agassiz .... 306 


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GALILEO GALILEI, FOUNDER OF 
EXPERIMENTAL SCIENCE 1 

by Ivor B. Hart 

In Galileo we have a splendid example of the working of a 
truly scientific mind, one which, before believing any theory, 
must put it to the test of experimentation. Since this man was 
apparently the first one in the world to do this, it is fitting 
that we should begin with his life and work. Since it is im¬ 
possible nowadays for any one to master all that is known 
about any one branch of science, it is hard to picture life in 
a period when this was possible and when only a few men had 
the scientific habit of mind, but we get a vivid impression of 
those days from this account by Ivor B. Hart. 

In English-speaking countries Galileo is known by his first 
name; but this is not the case elsewhere, and occasionally some 
scientist will insist that we should begin referring to “ Galilei ” 
instead of to “ Galileo.” However, it is difficult to change a 
long-standing habit of this sort. 

Ivor B. Hart is at present education, officer of the British 
Air Ministry and honorary research assistant at the University 
of London. He was born in London, July 14, 1889; educated 
at Earlsmead, East London College, and University College 
of the University of London. He taught science until the World 
War broke out, and then from 1915 until 1919 he saw war 
service in Italy, Mesopotamia, and India. 

G ALILEO GALILEI was born at Pisa, in the prov¬ 
ince of Tuscany in Italy, on the eighteenth of Feb¬ 
ruary, 1564. His father, Vincenzo Galilei, was ail 
impoverished Florentine nobleman of much culture, 
high ideals, and breadth of mind. He was a poor man, 
1 From Makers of Science. Oxford University Press, 1924. 




2 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


and he was naturally anxious that his son should adopt 
some definitely lucrative career. He saw his little 
Galileo exhibiting marvelous ingenuity in making toy 
contrivances, and he was much troubled by the thought 
that his son might wish to take up a scientific career. 
Vincenzo knew how hard it was to make a living in 
such a career, and he determined that if he could divert 
Galileo’s mind from any such tendencies he would do 
so. Accordingly he decided to make his son a cloth 
dealer. Luckily fate was against him. Galileo went to 
a convent school, and whatever he did, he did well. His 
father gave up the unequal struggle. The idea of mak¬ 
ing a merchant of such a boy was preposterous. A 
university career was inevitable; but at least, if he must 
take up a profession, then it should be as lucrative as 
possible. All this pointed to the medical profession, 
so to the University of Pisa went Galileo, at the age of 
seventeen years, to study for his medical degree. 

However, fate would not be denied. Mechanical skill 
was there, and mathematical genius was there. Galileo 
knew no mathematics, hut his genius could not be sup¬ 
pressed. Thus during a service in the Cathedral at 
Pisa, his attention was diverted from his devotions by 
the swinging of the chandelier above him. Its regular¬ 
ity of movement set him thinking. Galileo timed its 
swings. He had no watch — such things had not yet 
been invented — so he felt his own pulse and used that 
as his time index. What particularly interested him 
was the fact that, although the oscillations were dying 
down, the time of swing yet remained unchanged. This 
fact is now universally recognized as what is known as 
the principle of isochronism in pendulums, and is ap¬ 
plied in the working of the modern clock. But Galileo’s 
interest in it at the time was purely medical. He ex- 


GALILEO GALILEI 


3 


perimented at Lome with a metal ball suspended by a 
string of varying length, and found that the time of the 
swing changed with the length — it was faster for 
shorter lengths and slower for longer. The outcome was 
his invention of the “ pulsilogium ” — an instrument 
for recording the pulse rate of a patient. It was a 
simple enough contrivance. By rotating an index or 
pointer, a simple pendulum was wound up or unwound 
until its time of swing just coincided with the pulse 
rate of the patient. The scale over which the pointer 
moved was graduated to give a direct reading of the 
number of beats per minute. One day, Galileo, while 
calling on a friend of the family, one Ottilio Ricci, a 
mathematical tutor to the Court of Tuscany, acciden¬ 
tally heard through an open door a lesson in Euclid be¬ 
ing given to some pages. That chance lesson decided 
Galileo’s fate. He begged his friend to give him some 
lessons, and soon he was deeply engrossed in his new¬ 
found joy; for joy it was to him. It was not long be¬ 
fore he had mastered Euclid’s first six hooks. Nor was 
it long before the elder Galilei saw how things were 
going, and the career of medicine was finally abandoned. 

Galileo now gave himself up whole-heartedly to a 
study of mathematics and physics. Among other things, 
he became a close student of Archimedes, and he wrote 
a thesis on the “ hydrostatic balance,” suggesting im¬ 
provements on the Syracusan philosopher’s original de¬ 
sign. This brought Galileo to the notice of Guido 
Ubaldi, at that time the premier mathematician of Italy, 
and through him to Ferdinand dei Medici, Grand Duke 
of Tuscany. It was the patronage of this latter gentle¬ 
man which secured for him, at the age of twenty-six 
years, his first professional appointment — that of 
professor of mathematics in his own University of Pisa. 


4 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Galileo at Pisa 

Galileo was not long in asserting for himself that in¬ 
dependence of mind which we have seen to he so rare in 
those days. He was not indeed alone in his indictment 
of Aristotelian physics. For example, the writings of 
Copernicus were making silent headway amongst some¬ 
what timorous adherents, who seldom spoke out, so many 
were there to offend. Galileo, however, did not hesi¬ 
tate. With a horn genius for experiment, a trenchant 
pen for the recording of facts, and an honesty which 
refused to permit his conscience to sanction as fact that 
which his laboratory proved to he fiction, there could he 
only one result. 

Galileo’s older colleagues knew nothing of experi¬ 
ments. The very idea implied to them a sort of hideous 
witchcraft — a profanation of the sanctity of the Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine. One part of the doctrine, it will he 
remembered, stated that a heavy body will fall to earth 
more rapidly than a lighter one. Thus a hundred-pound 
weight will fall in one-hundredth the time it will take a 
one-pound weight to fall through a given distance. One 
would scarcely dare claim much pluck or originality for 
the idea of dropping two such weights simultaneously 
from a given height in order to put the great Aristotle 
to the test; yet this simple experiment was in fact one 
of the outstanding achievements of scientific history. 
It is astonishing to think that such an experiment had 
not been deliberately performed for at least two thou¬ 
sand years. Thinkers had come and gone; yet this 
absurd fiction of the great Greek philosopher had per¬ 
sisted through the ages. And the men who were con¬ 
sidered par excellence the great minds of the sixteenth 
century refused the evidence of their own senses! It is 
a problem for the psychologist. 


GALILEO GALILEI 


5 


The story of the experiment at the leaning tower of 
Pisa is well known. It speaks volumes for the vigorous 
personality of young Galileo that he got his audience 
together at all. There is real humor in the thought. 
What an unwilling audience they must have made! 
What angry mutterings must have accompanied the pre¬ 
liminaries as this young upstart slowly mounted the 
tower. And then, no doubt, a hush of unwilling ex¬ 
pectancy as the signal was given for the simultaneous 
release of heavy and light weights. Surely it is difficult 
to believe that these aged philosophers had not, at some 
time or other in their lives, seen two such weights drop 
in more or less the same time. They must surely have 
felt, in their heart of hearts, that they were fighting a 
losing fight, and that this young firebrand of a Galileo 
was a true herald of a new era. 

Crash! With simultaneous thud those two weights 
did indeed reach the ground at the same time. It was 
truly a great moment in the history of the world. Yet 
the blind prejudice of an unreasoning hero worship was 
too strong even for the evidence of the senses of sight 
and sound. “ Let us go home again/’ said they, “ and 
look it up.” So hack they went to their old hooks, and 
there sure enough it was — a heavy body falls faster 
than a light body. Besides, and the thought was like 
halm to their wounded sensibilities, does not the Church 
sanction the views of the great Aristotle? So the net 
result of it all was that, whilst they secretly feared 
Galileo, they openly disliked him. It was but the be¬ 
ginning of his career; yet his enemies multiplied rapidly. 

Galileo persevered in his study of motion — partic¬ 
ularly the motion of falling bodies. He saw clearly that 
falling bodies have accelerated motion — that is to say, 
the velocity 2 is increasing. He sought out what was the 
2 Rate of motion. 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


law of this increase in velocity. He soon satisfied him¬ 
self that the velocity is 'proportional to the time of fall¬ 
ing; that is to say, that a falling body receives equal 
increments of velocity in equal increments of time. He 
tested this experimentally by means of an inclined plane 
— a hoard twelve yards long, down the center of which 
was cut a trough one inch wide. This trough was lined 
with smooth parchment so as to minimize frictional er¬ 
rors. A highly polished and well-rounded brass ball 
was allowed to run down this plane, and the time was 
carefully noted for a wide range of varying inclinations. 
Galileo had no clock with which to measure time, but 
he was too gifted an experimentalist to be beaten by 
that fact. He arranged a water pail with a small out¬ 
let at the bottom. The escaping water was caught in a 
cup, the period of flow being timed to begin and end for 
the exact duration of his experiment — namely, the 
period of roll of his brass ball down the inclined plane. 
He then carefully weighed the water, and of course this 
weight was a measure of the time of descent of the ball 
down the inclined plane. 

Galileo found that, within the limits of experimental 
error, the distance of descent was proportional to the 
square of the time. This is in accordance with the well- 
known formula for falling bodies S = % gt 2 . Galileo 
had no difficulty in realizing that the results for the in¬ 
clined plane would apply equally to falling bodies, since 
by gradually increasing the steepness of the slope to 
ninety degrees, the latter case emerges as a special limit 
of the general problem. 

Galileo, too, was the first to realize that the path of a 
projectile in space is a parabola. 3 This was not a new 

3 Plane curve found by intersection of cone with plane parallel to 
its side. 


GALILEO GALILEI 


7 


problem. Early writers on gunnery bad remarked that 
for certain distances of tbe objective, tbe gun must be 
pointed upwards; whilst Thomas Digges, in his New 
Artillerie, published in 1591, had pointed out that the 
ball had a downward tendency right from the begin¬ 
ning of its course, and that it was the persistence of this 
tendency which ultimately produced a deflexion from 
the original direction. Galileo’s contribution to the 
problem was of a much more positive character. He 
had shown that for a falling body 
the fall was proportional to the 
square of the time. Represent¬ 
ing then equal increments of time 
by AB, BO, CD, DE, etc., if BF 
be the fall in the first interval, 
the fall in twice the time would 
be four times BF, namely CC; 
and in three times this interval 
the fall would be DH, equal to 
nine times the fall BF, and so on. So that if AB, BC, 
CD, etc., represent also the equal forward displacements 
of the projectile ejected initially in a horizonal direc¬ 
tion, then in fact the successive actual positions in space 
occupied by the projectile at these equal intervals of 
time would be A, F, G, H, K, etc., and this path Galileo 
had no difliculty in showing to be a parabola. It will be 
noticed that actually Galileo was making use here of the 
principle of the composition of forces; but he did not 
definitely enunciate this, evidently not fully recognizing 
its scope. 

One other important principle in mechanics was 
brought out by Galileo at this period, in his Della Sci- 
enza Meccanica, published in 1592. It is concerned with 
the theory of mechanical powers, and his statement in 











8 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


effect was this: that a force which can move a weight of 
two pounds through one foot will also move a weight of 
one pound through two feet. That is to say, the lighter 
the weight to be overcome, the greater is the distance in 
the corresponding ratio through which the force will 
move it, but under no circumstances can this advantage 
he exceeded. 

This is a most important proposition in statics, and 
was one which, much about this time, was also being 
investigated by the famous Stevinus, of Bruges, from a 
somewhat more practical standpoint. 

The days of Galileo at Pisa were numbered, as things 
were fast reaching a climax. He had, by his outspoken 
criticisms, multiplied his enemies rapidly. The end 
came as a result of a difference he had with one Giovanni 
dei Medici, an influential personage who had invented a 
scheme for cleansing the port of Leghorn. Galileo’s 
opinion was sought; and, honest man that he was, he 
condemned it outright. Later experience of the scheme 
fully justified Galileo’s condemnation, but the mis¬ 
chief was done. The inventor was mortally offended, 
and his hostile influence proved too strong for Galileo, 
who was compelled to resign his chair at Pisa. The 
death of his father at this period left him with some 
responsibility in the matter of assisting to provide for 
his sisters, so that when in 1592 the Senate of Venice 
offered him the professorship of mathematics at the 
University of Padua, Galileo eagerly accepted, and so 
began for himself a new era of brilliance and fame. 

Padua 

Galileo went to Padua in 1592 in no chastened spirit. 
Pisa was his native city, and the call of home was strong 
in him. There is no doubt that he keenly felt his exile, 


GALILEO GALILEI 


9 


for such it really was. Yet he threw himself whole¬ 
heartedly into his professional duties. His inaugural 
lecture was a triumph of eloquence, and his fame rapidly 
increased. People of the highest rank flocked to hear 
him, and his school of natural philosophy was filled to 
overflowing, so that frequently he had to abandon his 
classroom and lecture in the open air. 

One of the first fruits of his labors at Padua was the 
invention of what was perhaps the first thermometer. 
This consisted of a flask with a long narrow neck in¬ 
verted, with its end dipping into a small reservoir of 
colored water. Some of the air within the flask having 
been withdrawn, the decreased pressure of the air so 
produced causes the water to rise in the neck. The posi¬ 
tion of the head of the column was indicated by a scale 
at the side. The effect of heat is much greater upon air 
than upon water; and hence, when the temperature rose, 
the liquid fell in the stem, and vice versa. The chief 
error in this instrument arises from the fact that not 
only does the position of the liquid in the stem depend 
upon the temperature, but also upon the barometric 
pressure . 4 Galileo, however, was probably unaware 
of this, as the barometer was not invented till about 
1642. 

It was whilst Galileo was at Padua that he began to 
come into world-wide prominence as a disciple of Coper¬ 
nicus. It is evident that, so far as his public lectures 
were concerned, he made no attempt in the first years of 
his professorship to depart from the current Ptolemaic 
hypothesis as usuaMy taught. He first testified to his 
belief in the Copernican system in 1597, when he wrote 
to Kepler to thank him for a copy of the latter’s Mys- 
terium Cosmographicum. “ I have been for many 
4 Atmospheric pressure as measured by a barometer. 


10 


THE WORLD OP SCIENCE 


years,” wrote lie, “ an adherent of the Copernican sys¬ 
tem, and it explains to me the causes of many of the 
appearances of nature which are quite unintelligible on 
the commonly accepted hypothesis.” He then goes on 
to explain why, in spite of this belief, he has remained 
silent. “ I have collected many arguments for refuting 
the latter; but I do not venture to bring them to the 
light of publicity, for fear of sharing the fate of our 
master, Copernicus, who, although he has earned im¬ 
mortal fame with some, yet with very many (so great 
is the number of fools) has he become an object of ridi¬ 
cule and scorn.” 

Galileo was not wanting in courage, but his appoint¬ 
ment at Padua was for a term of six years only, and he 
evidently had no intention of jeopardizing his prospects 
of reelection. Presumably he was justified, for in 
1598 he was not only reelected, but his salary was 
considerably increased, and he felt more secure in 
consequence. 

There was, however, another fact — a black incident 
in the history of the Church of those days — which must 
have profoundly influenced Galileo against too free a 
pronouncement of his Copernican views. Giordano 
Bruno, an eminent philosopher, had boldly pronounced 
for Copernicus. This, as we all know, was regarded as 
heresy by the Church, and Bruno took refuge from 
anger by residing for a time in the republic of Venice. 
Nevertheless, in 1594 Bruno was tried and convicted and 
cast into prison. He refused to recant. At last, after 
six years, it became evident to the ecclesiastical author¬ 
ities that imprisonment would not suffice, and so this 
martyr of science was passed on to “ have his soul 
cleansed.” He was condemned to death at the stake, but 
he remained true to his convictions to the last. “ You 


GALILEO GALILEI 


11 


who sentence me/’ said he, “ are in greater fear than I 
who am condemned.” There is something really fine 
about Bruno’s dying words. “ I have fought, that is 
much — victory is in the hands of fate. Be that as it 
may, this at least future ages will not deny me, be the 
victor who he may — that I did not fear to die. I 
yielded to none of my fellows in constancy and pre¬ 
ferred a spirited death to a cowardly life.” 

His death was a shock to all high-minded people who 
dared to think about it at all. Badua, now a tram ride 
from Venice, was near enough then for Galileo to have 
been profoundly affected by the whole affair. We know 
he was a Copernican, but it was some years after the 
death of Bruno before he ventured to be really outspoken 
on the subject. 

At first he confined his denunciations to the general 
Aristotelian philosophy of the immutability of the heav¬ 
ens. An almost ideal opportunity offered itself in 1604, 
when a brilliant new star literally blazed into view. 
Such stars appear at varying intervals in the -Skies, and 
astronomers speak of them as novce % , or temporary stars. 
They are obvious evidences of great cosmic upheaval of 
some kind or other, and they are the subject of con¬ 
siderable speculation and scientific interest whenever 
they appear. 

So far as Galileo was concerned, here was a splendid 
object lesson for his obstinate pro-Aristotelian contem¬ 
poraries. Here in the “ unchanging ” heavens (for the 
heavens in the old view were the seat of all that is 
changeless) was shining with a brilliance far exceeding 
that of Jupiter at his brightest, a something where there 
had been nothing! A star where there had been no star ! 
What was Aristotle’s immutable sky worth in the face 
of this? 


12 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Before enraptured audiences of greater numbers than 
ever before, Galileo discussed this phenomenon and 
pointed the moral. His opponents took up the chal¬ 
lenge, and Padua became the storm center of a contro¬ 
versy which could only carry Galileo one way; and so we 
find him boldly proclaiming for Copernicus and his sys¬ 
tem, and definitely committing himself to a campaign 
in which, as we shall see later, the whole of the forces 
of the Church were arrayed against him and which 
brought tragedy to his later life. 

The Telescope 

It was a trick of fate which placed at this period a 
most powerful weapon in Galileo’s hands and enabled 
him to adduce illustration after illustration in support 
of his pro-Copernican campaign. In 1609 he heard in¬ 
teresting rumors of a remarkable contrivance which had 
been devised in Holland, whereby objects, viewed 
through this instrument, appeared to be enlarged and 
brought considerably nearer than they actually were 
when seen by the naked eye. 

There has been much controversy as to the origin of 
the telescope. We know that lenses had been used as 
long ago as Roger Bacon’s time as an aid to vision, but 
the actual combination of lenses to produce a telescope 
was an invention of the beginning of the seventeenth 
century. There have been many claims for the honor 
of the invention. On the whole, evidence appears to 
favor the claims of Hans Lippershey, a manufacturer of 
spectacles in Middelburg, as having been at least the first 
to produce such an instrument. Details are regrettably 
vague. It is said that the necessary combination of 
lenses was accidentally arranged by one of Lippershey’s 
apprentices and was regarded by the spectacle maker 


GALILEO GALILEI 


13 


rather as a toy than anything else. In some vague way, 
the novelty began to be talked about, and in due course 
rumors of it reached Galileo. The significance of such 
an instrument as a weapon of science was fully evident 
to him. The problem of its design haunted him, and he 
could not rest until he had solved it. His only data for 
a solution were the existing treatises on the structure of 
the eye, and his own vague knowledge of the theory of 
lenses. But these with his genius for mechanical con¬ 
trivance sufficed. He sat up for a whole night, and be¬ 
fore morning he had solved the problem. His own 
words are definite enough. Writing to a relative, he 
said: 

I have a piece of news for you, though whether you will 
be glad or sorry to hear it I cannot say. ... You must 
know, then, that two months ago there was spread a re¬ 
port here that in Flanders some one had presented to Count 
Maurice of Nassau a glass manufactured in such a way as 
to make distant objects appear very near, so that a man 
at a distance of two miles could be clearly seen. This seemed 
to me so marvelous that I began to think about it. As it 
appeared to me to have a foundation in the Theory of Per¬ 
spective, I set about contriving how to make it, and at 
length I found out, and have succeeded so well that the one I 
have made is 'far superior to the Dutch telescope. It was 
reported in Venice that I had made one, and a week since I 
was commanded to show it to his serenity and to all members 
of the Senate, to their infinite amazement. Many gentlemen 
and senators, even the oldest, have ascended at various 
times the highest bell towers in Venice to spy out ships at 
sea making sail for the mouth of the harbor, and have seen 
them clearly, though without my telescope they would have 
been invisible for more than two hours. The effect of this 
instrument is to show an object at a distance of say fifty 
miles, as if it were but five miles. 

It is worth noting that the Dutch instrument was of 
a totally different type from that which Galileo designed. 


14 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


The former gave an inverted image; the latter an erect 
image. Galileo’s type of instrument is still in use in the 
opera-glass. . . . His original instrument gave a mag¬ 
nification of three and his second of eight. It was not 
long before he had considerably extended these magnifi¬ 
cations, and with his assistants he became very expert in 
telescope manufacture. He presented some to various 
noblemen, and some were sold; and with such unbounded 
delight and wonder was this novelty received that an 
admiring Senate promptly increased his salary to one 
thousand florins and granted it for the duration of his 
life. 

It should not he difficult to realize how astonishingly 
impressive the invention of this instrument must have 
been to those privileged to gaze through it for the first 
time. To see a ship where the naked eye sees nothing, 
to see a man a mile away smiling or making some slight 
movement ordinarily invisible at a distance; such ex¬ 
periences must of course have appeared wonderful to all 
concerned. Of far more importance is it that, when 
Galileo turned his instrument to the heavens at night, 
he discovered new wonder after new wonder, and each 
new fact helped to controvert the Aristotelian philos¬ 
ophy, and afforded added proofs of the truth of the Co- 
pernican doctrine of the solar system as modified by 
Kepler. 

A few examples of these discoveries — there are too 
many to deal with within the compass of this hook — 
will suffice. Thus Aristotelians had regarded the face of 
the moon as being steadily even and uniformly bright. 
Galileo found instead the irregularity, both in surface 
and in brilliance, of mountain and crater and valley and 
sea. The reference to Galileo’s observations is clearly 
indicated in Milton’s Paradise Lost: 


GALILEO GALILEI 


15 


. . . the moon, whose orb 
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
At evening from the top of Fesole, 

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 

Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe. 

Again, the Aristotelians said that all heavenly bodies 
revolved round the earth. Yet Galileo turned his tele¬ 
scope to Jupiter and to his amazement and delight dis¬ 
covered four moons revolving round it. The extrava¬ 
gances of opposition which these observations elicited 
read today like a childish novel. Thus Sizzi argued 
that, since these moons were invisible to the naked eye, 
therefore they can exercise no influence on the earth, and 
therefore they are useless, and therefore they do not 
exist. Another opponent went farther. He absolutely 
declined to look through the telescope at all. 

Oh, my dear Kepler [writes Galileo] how I wish that we 
could have one hearty laugh together. Here at Padua is 
the principal professor of philosophy whom I have repeat¬ 
edly and urgently requested to look at the moon and planets 
through my glass, which he pertinaciously refuses to do. 
Why are you not here? What shouts of laughter we should 
have at this glorious folly. And to hear the professor of 
philosophy at Pisa laboring before the grand duke with 
logical arguments, as if with magical incantations, to charm 
the new planets out of the sky. 

One further instance may he quoted. Galileo ex¬ 
amined the surface of the sun, and saw spots. Heinous 
offense! He examined them and saw them moving, and 
so proved the rotation of the sun on its own axis. A 
thoughtful monk named Scheiner verified these observa¬ 
tions and communicated an account of the spots to the 
superior of his order. And what was he told for his 
pains ? “ I have searched through Aristotle,” wrote the 
superior, “ and can find nothing of the kind mentioned. 


16 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Be assured, therefore, that it is a deception of your 
senses, or of your glasses.” 

Florence 

Meanwhile Galileo’s fame grew. He was the idol of 
the Venetian republic. We have seen that in 1609 he 
had his salary doubled and confirmed for life. In 
Padua, too, children had been born to him — one son, 
Vincenzo, and two daughters, one of whom, Polissena, 
was afterwards to become the comfort of his old age. 
Yet he was never quite happy in Venetia. Galileo was 
a Tuscan, and for him Tuscany spelt home and Venetia 
exile. The people of Tuscany, too, had long since re¬ 
gretted that they had driven this great man from them. 
Galileo had never quite lost touch with Pisa; and when 
his position at Padua had become reasonably secure, he 
began paying holiday visits to his native home, and 
thus came into friendly contact with the Grand Duke 
of Tuscany, Cosimo II. Cosimo expressed the popular 
desire in his efforts to induce Galileo to return to Tus¬ 
cany; and in 1610, after the famous discovery of Jupi¬ 
ter’s satellites, he offered our philosopher the appoint¬ 
ment of Mathematician and Philosopher to the Grand 
Duke, and Galileo accepted. 

It was a fateful decision. The joy of freedom from 
the daily routine of lectures and the remembrance of 
long years of yearning for a return to his native country 
overrode all other considerations, and so we find him in 
1610 installed in the city of Florence, there to continue 
his career of successful research in astronomy and 
mechanics. 

Why was it such a fateful decision? Galileo was a 
Copernican in a land which was officially anti-Coper- 
nican and where the Church ruled. To dabble with doc- 


GALILEO GALILEI 


17 


trines which it regarded as heresies was to play with 
fire. It was not so very many years since Bruno was 
burnt at the stake for such an offense. In Venice Ga¬ 
lileo had been reasonably safe. It was a land of relative 
tolerance in religious matters. But Tuscany was dif¬ 
ferent. It came more under the influence of Home. 
And so behind Galileo’s return from a land of freedom 
to a land of religious tyranny there lurked tragedy. 

Of course, the Venetians were much offended at his 
departure from them, and rightly so. It was scarcely a 
year since they had voted Galileo an annuity for life. 
They had always treated him well, and his departure 
hurt them. So Galileo left behind him many enemies 
amongst those who had been his friends. 

In 1611 he paid a brief visit to Borne and was en¬ 
thusiastically received. On his return to Florence, he 
turned his attention to the subject of hydrostatics and 
published an excellent treatise on floating bodies. This 
was followed by more astronomical activity. He dis¬ 
covered and commented on Saturn’s remarkable “ ap¬ 
pendages,” later known as Saturn’s rings; he wrote upon 
the problem of the determination of longitude; he dis¬ 
covered the phenomenon known as the “ libration of 
the moon.” And all this time he attacked the Aristo¬ 
telian philosophers with unceasing vigor; and mean¬ 
while his clerical enemies were at work, trying to stir 
up Borne against him. 

They were so far successful that Galileo was in 1615 
summoned to Borne to explain his views. He went. It 
was a delicate situation, fraught with possibilities. He 
found himself arrayed against the cream of the Aris¬ 
totelian talent of the day . But he excelled in argument 
and carried his points. If only he could have remained 
in the presence of his opponents no doubt all would have 


18 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

been well, for Pope Paul Y was well-disposed towards 
bim. When, however, be withdrew from tbe debating 
chamber, the magic of his arguments went with him, 
and the College of Cardinals decided definitely to ban 
the writings of Copernicus and Kepler and to instruct 
Cardinal Bellarmine to reprimand Galileo for his sup¬ 
port of their doctrines. This was done, and on the 
twenty-sixth of February, 1616, Galileo found himself 
enjoined, under the threat of imprisonment and tor¬ 
ture, “ to abandon and cease to teach his false, impious, 
and heretical opinions.” Galileo bowed to the inevi¬ 
table ; he gave his promise and was permitted to return 
to Florence. 

The Inquisition 

The years which followed Galileo’s return to Florence 
were peaceful enough in their way. He vigorously con¬ 
tinued his researches, but carefully avoided anything 
which would give offense to his watchful enemies. He 
was getting on in years, and at this period of his life 
found much comfort in the proximity of one of his 
daughters, who had become a nun in the Convent of St. 
Matthew at Arcetri; and here he passed much of his 
time, frequently visiting the convent and, when unable 
to do so, maintaining a steady correspondence with his 
daughter. Her letters to her father, many of them still 
extant, constitute a most touching record of this period 
of the philosopher’s life. 

So we come to the year 1623, to the death of Pope 
Paul Y. He was succeeded by Urban YIII, who, as 
Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, had been one of Galileo’s 
cordial friends and well-wishers. His elevation to the 
papacy was a source of much gratification to Galileo, 
who hoped that the new regime would spell for him an 
era of tolerance. One of his friends tactfully sounded 


GALILEO GALILEI 


19 


the pope on his behalf, and as a result advised Galileo to 
come to Rome to offer to the pope his personal congrat¬ 
ulations. Galileo came, and the visit was a success; so 
much so, that on his return to Florence, he found that 
Urban VIII had dispatched a letter of commendation 
to Ferdinand, Cosimo’s young successor to the ducal 
throne of Tuscany. 

We find in Galileo [wrote he] not only literary distinction, 
but also the love of piety, and he is also strong in those 
qualities by which the pontifical good will is easily ob¬ 
tained. And now, when he has been brought to this city 
to congratulate us on our elevation, we have very lovingly 
embraced him; nor can we suffer him to return to the 
country whither your liberality calls him without an ample 
provision of pontifical love. And that you may know how 
dear he is to us, we have willed to give him this honorable 
testimonial of virtue and piety. And we further signify 
that every benefit which you shall confer upon him, imitat¬ 
ing or even surpassing your father’s liberality, will conduce 
to our gratification. 

This was surely a splendid testimonial, and it was 
only natural for Galileo to hope that the tide had turned 
and that he might at last venture a little more out¬ 
spokenly to record his real thoughts and opinions. How¬ 
ever, Galileo made a fatal mistake of forgetting to dif¬ 
ferentiate between the pope himself and the powerful 
ecclesiastical authorities who surrounded him. It was 
a mistake for which he was to pay heavily. 

He now set to work and prepared the great hook of 
his life. It was called Dialogues on the Ptolemaic and 
Copernican Systems, and he completed it by the year 
1630. The form which this work took was determined 
by the fact that in 1616 he had been made to promise, 
under threat of imprisonment, never to teach the Co¬ 
pernican doctrine. He wrote what purported to be an 


20 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


impartial discussion in dialogue form, between Salviati, 
a Copernican, Simplicio, an Aristotelian, and Sagredo, 
a sort of good-natured chairman. It is claimed by 
some writers that this work was in no way antagonistic 
to tbe promise wbicb had been extorted from him, but it 
is difficult to believe this. At best one can only say that, 
if it did not conform to the spirit of the promise, it did 
to the letter. The fact remains that as a pretense to 
a detached impartiality it was little more than a pre¬ 
text, for throughout the work Salviati has much the 
better of the argument. It was a brilliantly written 
work and was undoubtedly a masterpiece of common 
sense and a fine literary effort, but it did not deceive 
Galileo’s enemies. Indeed it is remarkable that he ever 
got so far as to obtain preliminary permission to pub¬ 
lish the book. Looking at it from their very narrow 
and prejudiced point of view, the permission to publish 
could only have been due to some very careless bungling 
on the part of the Master of the Sacred Palace, the man 
who acted as censor in these matters. The book ap¬ 
peared in 1632 and was dedicated to the Grand Duke 
of Tuscany. It was received by an eager public and 
read with avidity. It was then realized by the Master 
of the Sacred Palace that he had blundered, and he at 
once ordered the sequestration of the book. Too late 
Galileo saw how strong were the forces against him, 
and in spite of such friendly assistance as the Grand 
Duke Ferdinand and others tried to offer, the tide of 
fury was irresistible. 

Even Pope Urban, former friend and well-wisher of 
Galileo, turned against him. His holiness was per- 
suaded that the character of Simplicio was intended as 
a deliberate caricature of himself. Galileo was per¬ 
emptorily summoned to Rome on a charge of heresy. 


GALILEO GALILEI 


21 


He was now an old man, his health was failing, the 
plague was abroad and it was winter. In those days 
the journey from Florence to Home was no light under¬ 
taking, and Galileo pleaded for delay. His plea was 
refused, and he arrived in Home in February, 1633. He 
was permitted to he received as the guest of his old 
friend Hiccolini, the Tuscan ambassador, but he was 
recommended to keep indoors. The proceedings of the 
Inquisition were protracted till June. They were, of 
course, conducted in secret. Throughout this time Gali¬ 
leo’s friends urged upon him the advisability of sub¬ 
mission. It must have been a time of mental torture 
for the aged philosopher. What was he to do? How 
could he, in the circumstances in which he was placed, do 
other than remember the fate of such men as Bruno? 
The old man, broken in spirit, gave in, and declared his 
“ free and unbiased ” willingness to recant. Clothed in 
the regulation garb of the penitent, he was brought be¬ 
fore the assembly of cardinals to receive the judgment 
of the Inquisition. They condemned his works; but 
out of their mercy and in consideration of his voluntary 
recantation, they extended to him their gracious pardon 
and merely imposed the sentence of imprisonment at 
the papal discretion. 

Then followed the famous recantation: 

. . . But because I have been enjoined by this Holy 
Office altogether to abandon the false opinion which main¬ 
tains that the sun is the center and immovable, and for¬ 
bidden to hold, defend, or teach the said false doctrine in 
any manner, and after it hath been signified to me that the 
said doctrine is repugnant with the Holy Scripture, I have 
written and printed a book, in which I treat of the same 
doctrine now condemned, . . . that is to say, that I held 
and believed that the sun is the center of the universe and 
is immovable, and that the earth is not the center and is 


22 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


movable; willing, therefore, to remove from the minds of 
your eminences, and of every Catholic Christian, this vehe¬ 
ment suspicion rightfully entertained towards me, with a 
sincere heart and unfeigned faith, I abjure, curse, and de¬ 
test the said heresies and errors, and generally every other 
error and sect contrary to the Holy Church, and I swear 
that I will never more in future say or assert anything verb¬ 
ally, or in writing, which may give rise to a similar suspicion 
of me. . . . 

What are we to say of this disgraceful scene? Who, 
dispassionately reading the facts, can do aught but feel 
deeply for the pathetic victim? Who can but feel pro¬ 
found indignation against an organization which could 
thus act in the name of God? Yet in common fairness 
the reader should be reminded that, so far as the Church 
was concerned, there was in reality no motive of either 
punishment or persecution behind what might be called 
the “ theory ” of the Holy Inquisition. 

The Inquisition was not a court of justice to try heresy 
as a crime, but rather a sort of spiritual board of health, 
whose office was to apply a salutary remedy, possibly a pain¬ 
ful one, to stop the contagion of error and, if possible, to re¬ 
store the heretic to the pale of salvation. The object was 
not conviction but submission; not truth but profession. 
This being once obtained, by whatever means, the sole end 
was accomplished. 

Knowledge of Galileo’s almost world-wide influence 
as a scholar and a philosopher prompted the most elab¬ 
orate methods of bringing to the notice of Europe the 
full text of the recantation. It was read to all con¬ 
gregants from every pulpit; it was read to all students 
by the professors at universities; it was read publicly 
to all Galileo’s friends and sympathizers in his own 
town of Florence. 


GALILEO GALILEI 


23 


Galileo’s Last Years 

The pope interpreted the sentence of imprisonment 
mercifully. So far as close confinement was concerned, 
it lasted but four days, after which he was permitted a 
modified exile in the palace of the Archbishop Piccolo- 
mini at Siena. 

Meanwhile the anxieties of the trial had broken the 
health of Galileo’s daughter. As she lay dying, her last 
wish was naturally to see her father, so Galileo asked for 
permission to return to Arcetri. The wish was merci¬ 
fully granted, and for the last time the two were per¬ 
mitted to see each other. A few days later she died. 
The grief-stricken old man now asked to be permitted to 
return to Florence, but fear of his possible influence at 
the scene of his former triumphs brought a stern re¬ 
fusal and a warning that he must content himself with 
confinement in the Villa Arcetri. So here he stayed on, 
broken by grief and by the infirmities of old age. 
Nevertheless, his intellect was as brilliantly active as 
ever, and he returned to his work. He devoted the next 
few years to the study of dynamics, and in his famous 
Dialogues on Motion, published under great difficulties 
(owing to the ecclesiastical ban on his works) in Amster¬ 
dam in 1636, he consolidated his earlier work on the 
subject at Pisa and did all the spade work which later 
resulted in the enunciation of Newton’s laws of motion, 
justly considered to be the foundation of the study of 
mechanics. 

Virtually a prisoner — his own son was appointed 
to act as his warder — and with rapidly failing health, 
Galileo was at last seized with blindness. He accepted 
this misfortune, as he had done so many others before, 
with philosophic resignation. 


24 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

Your dear friend and servant, Galileo [he wrote to Dio- 
dati in 1638] has been for the last month perfectly blind, 
so that this heaven, this earth, this universe, which I by 
my marvelous discoveries and clear demonstrations have 
enlarged a hundred thousand times beyond the belief of the 
wise men of bygone years, henceforward is for me shrunk 
into such a small space as is filled by my own bodily sensa¬ 
tions. So it pleases God; so also shall it therefore please 
me. 

Apparently he was now considered to be somewhat 
less dangerous to civilization, as we now find him per¬ 
mitted to receive friends. The highest in his own 
country vied with the eminent men of all other parts 
of Europe to do him homage and to express sympathy 
and admiration for him. Among others, by a strange 
irony of fate, Milton, doomed to blindness himself, 
visited Galileo. All who came were delighted to find his 
gift of conversation and old charm of manner unim¬ 
paired by his bodily infirmities. But the end was ap¬ 
proaching. To his blindness there was added deafness, 
and at last he was seized with a low fever. He died 
on the eighth of January, 1642, aged seventy-eight 
years. 

Even in his death his persecution was continued. At 
first the authorities refused him burial. Later they sanc¬ 
tioned an obscure burial, but permitted no monument 
over his grave. They then disputed his will, and even 
this did not suffice. They seized all the unpublished 
manuscript in the possession of his family, and what 
little they actually returned was “ offered up ” as a 
“ burnt offering ” by Galileo’s grandson, Cosimo, as a 
preliminary act of devotion at the beginning of his 
career as a missionary. 

[Nowadays there exists a monument to his memory in 
the church of Santa Croce at Florence. Yet what finer 


GALILEO GALILEI 


25 


monument to Galileo’s memory can. there be than 
the old leaning tower at Pisa — that silent witness 
of a great experiment by the man of whom it may 
truly he said “ he was the founder of experimental 
science.” 


THE CHEMICAL FACTORY IN THE 
GREENT LEAF 


by Beverly L. Clarice 

Beverly L. Clarke conducted researches at Stanford Univer¬ 
sity from 1925 to 1927, holding a fellowship from the National 
Research Council. Since that time he has been connected with 
the Bell Telephone Laboratories, Incorporated, of New York 
City. 


U P TO now in this book 1 we have spoken of things 
which are entirely universal. First, we learned 
that the matter of this earth is built up of combinations 
of ninety-one distinct elements. Later we saw how the 
spectroscope 2 had revealed to us that the various other 
members of our Solar System, and indeed all other solar 
systems throughout boundless space were composed of 
these same elements. It looks as if the whole universe 
were made out of one batch of material, so to speak. 
We have nothing down here on the earth in the way 
of matter which we may justly boast of as our private 
possession; we share our substance with the universe. 

The same can be said of energy. Our chief source of 
energy, the sun, lies leagues off in space, and we have 
every reason to believe that energy takes the same forms 
and obey^s the same laws in every corner of the uni¬ 
verse as it does here on our earth. 

But now we must consider something which may be 

1 From The Romance of Reality. Macmillan, 1927. 

2 An instrument for forming and analyzing rays of light. 


CHEMISTRY IN THE LEAF 


27 


found only on the earth, and, if this is so, which makes 
our earth stand out in importance in the whole universe. 
This thing is life — living plants and animals. 

Men of all times have wondered if human beings lived 
on Mars or on the moon. There is really no way of 
knowing — unless some miracle should send a man of 
Mars here to prove it. But we know a great deal in¬ 
directly which bears on the question of life in other 
parts of the universe. For example, it is generally 
agreed that there is no air on the moon. It is plain then 
that men like us could not exist on that body. But it 
is not at all out of the question that other types of liv¬ 
ing beings exist on the moon, entirely different from us 
and from all plants and animals on the earth, but yet 
living things. Nhbody knows, and it is a question 
whether any one will ever know. But in intensely hot 
stars like our sun we know that chemical molecules can¬ 
not exist, owing to the high temperature, and that there¬ 
fore all matter is eternally separated into its atoms. 
This apparently means that life of any kind is impos¬ 
sible on the hot stars, because the bodies of living things 
must certainly be composed of combinations of elements. 

Here on the earth we have minute forms of life — 
bacteria — some of which live on iron rust, others on 
stones of various kinds. Indeed there is scarcely any 
material or any condition of heat or cold (if we do not 
get into extremely high temperatures) but what there 
is some bacterium which is fitted to live there. So let 
us remember that, although it is very probable that 
living beings like us could not be found in other parts 
of the universe, nevertheless, it is possible that there are 
countless millions of heavenly bodies which are teeming 
with some kind of life. 

Living things may be broken up into their chemical 


28 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


elements. . . . And we find that even such a thing as the 
body of a man, so utterly different from dust and stone 
and water, yet contains no element which is not found 
in lifeless matter. 

If you examine a drop of stagnant water with a micro¬ 
scope, you will see little drops of colorless jelly. If you 
watch one of these drops closely, you will see the thing 
continuously changing its shape. Eirst it is round like 
a ball. Then a little swelling appears on one side, 
gradually becoming larger. Then you observe that the 
whole body — for this is a living thing — seems to flow 
into this little blister. It is easy to understand how 
this flowing of the body of the amoeba — for such is 
this tiny atom of life called — allows it to move a little. 
The little blisters which appear on the side toward which 
the animal wants to move, are called pseudopods, mean¬ 
ing false feet. The amoeba is economical; it does not 
bother with a foot until it wants to move, and then it 
quickly grows one, uses it, and then causes it to dis¬ 
appear. 

The little amoeba eats as we do and uses the food to 
grow and to furnish energy for moving about to get 
more food. When it moves with its absurd “ false feet / 7 
it does so either to seize upon a food particle, or to get 
away from some object that threatens to harm it. In 
other words it moves not confusedly, hut with a purpose. 

We shall see shortly that this little animal, like all 
other living things, has a miraculous power to create 
other little amoebas like itself. 

If we observe in the same way through our micro¬ 
scope a particle of coal or stone, we will see none of 
these things. The particle of lifeless matter may move 
about, but haphazardly and without apparent purpose. 
It will never eat another piece of wood and will never 


CHEMISTRY IN THE LEAF 


29 


break up into two similar particles. Thus tbe amoeba, 
silly and stupid as it is, does things which wood and 
stone can never do. What the amoeba does, all living 
things do, and what the mote of stone dust cannot do, a 
towering mountain cannot do. We say the amoeba has 
life. That is a short way of saying that this little ani¬ 
mal eats, grows, runs away from danger, and repro¬ 
duces other little animals like itself. The amoeba is one 
of the lowest forms of life. Higher plants and animals 
do these things more efficiently, but they do the same 
things and nothing more. Only when we come to man 
do we find the animal doing any thinking about it. If 
you poke at the amoeba with a splinter, the amoeba 
always runs away; if you put a bit of food near an 
amoeba, it always eats it up. But if you punch a man 
with a stick, he may or may not draw away, as he 
wishes; if you set a dinner before him, he may or may 
not eat, depending on how hungry he is. 

Let us examine a little more closely into the division 
of an amoeba to form two others. First, we observe that 
the animal is not a perfectly clear mass of jelly. Hear 
a side is a black spot, called the nucleus, and through¬ 
out the body there are several clear spaces filled with 
water. When the amoeba divides, the nucleus also di¬ 
vides and so do all the other spots and granules. One- 
half of the nucleus and one-half of every granule goes 
into each of the daughter amoebas. The parent has dis¬ 
appeared, but two more have taken its place. Eventu¬ 
ally these two divide, and so on forever. Indeed, we 
believe that the amoeba never dies a natural death. Un¬ 
less some larger animal eats it, it continues its life 
through its children and descendants forever. 

A mass of jelly with its nucleus, its various granules 
and clear spaces, with its surrounding wall slightly 


30 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


tougher than the interior, we call a cell. Whenever 
the quality of life appears, we always find it associated 
with a cell like this. The lump of jelly as a whole is the 
body; the clear jelly, the flesh; the nucleus and the 
granules and so on, the organs. Many animals and 
plants, like the amoeba, have only one cell. Others have 
several cells; and when we come to man, we find an 
animal with uncounted millions of cells. But in animals 
and plants having more than one cell, these cells are not 
all alike. Some of them are adapted for digestion of 
food, others for sensing danger, and still others for 
reproduction. In man we have thousands of special 
kinds of cells. But hear in mind that the cells that make 
up your eye are nothing but amoebas which have special¬ 
ized in seeing just as a student specializes in medicine or 
law. Let us not he too quick to laugh at the silly flying 
about of the little amoeba, for at one stage of our lives 
we were one-celled animals ourselves. 

A characteristic of life is the ability to reproduce its 
kind. In the simplest animals like the amoeba, this is 
done by simply splitting in two. In others the method is 
more complicated, and in the higher animals the proc¬ 
ess is quite involved. In these higher animals, two 
types are developed; the male and the female. The male 
produces one kind of cell and the female another. Be¬ 
fore a new animal can he produced, the male and female 
cells must meet and fuse together, forming a one-celled 
animal. This cell then divides by splitting in two, and 
these two divide and so on, some of the cells special¬ 
izing on certain functions, some on others. Finally, 
when the animal is fully developed, it is like its parent, 
and, as is not the case with the amoeba, the parents still 
live. 

It has never been possible to construct an imitation 


CHEMISTRY IN THE LEAF 


31 


animal or plant cell out of materials wliicli are not liv¬ 
ing, and have this cell live. People have been trying 
to create living creatures out of lifeless matter for 
hundreds of years, hut nobody has ever succeeded. As 
we said above, we can analyze a living cell and find 
out the chemical substances which are present, and with 
our microscopes we can discover just how the several 
parts of the cell are put together. It would seem, then, 
that, if we took these materials and built them up into 
the shape of the cell, the resulting structure ought to 
live. The fact is that it does not. 

This failure to create life may be caused by one of 
two things. Some people believe that, even though we 
can find out what chemical elements are in the living 
cell, and even though we can imitate its form and 
shape, yet there is — they say — a mysterious some¬ 
thing which we have not yet discovered, which is pres¬ 
ent in all living matter and which indeed makes it live. 
Nobody has any suggestions as to what this magical 
ingredient is, other than that it may he a kind of en¬ 
ergy which is different from all kinds that we know 
about, and which they call “ live ” energy. 

However, still other people prefer to consider that 
the secret of life is not something mysterious that is too 
big for the mind to understand, but rather that our fail¬ 
ure to manufacture living things is caused by our 
incomplete understanding of the chemistry of living 
matter. 

The jellylike substance which composes all cells is 
called protoplasm. To the naked eye the interior of a 
cell looks like perfectly clear jelly. But more careful ex¬ 
amination discloses that the clear jelly is broken up by 
myriads of tiny granules, little holes filled with air or 
with water or with something else; by cracks and crev- 


32 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


ices and fissures of all shapes and sizes. In the same 
way we see a house at twilight only as a dark hulk out¬ 
lined against the sky. For all we can tell from a dis¬ 
tance it might be cut out of smooth black cardboard. 
But on coming closer, we find the house to be made of 
many dozens of different kinds of things, such as bricks, 
tiles, wood, glass, etc. The fine structure of the proto¬ 
plasm is vastly more complicated than the most elabo¬ 
rate building. 

For a man to attempt to construct protoplasm out 
of dead matter is very much like a child trying to build 
a skyscraper after observing one through a telescope. 
Despite the fact that we have spent countless years 
studying protoplasm and living cells, one must confess 
that as yet we know very little about them. But most 
people whose business it is to study living matter are 
agreed that there is nothing more mysterious about 
protoplasm than the inconceivable amount of hard work 
necessary to understand it. They are confident that at 
some distant time — perhaps thousands of years hence 
— we shall reach a full understanding of the nature of 
living matter. 

Life seems always to come from life; that is to say, 
living matter is produced by living matter. There is 
a legend among boys to the effect that a horse hair, if 
put into a water barrel, will turn into a snake. Hot so 
many years ago, nearly everybody believed such things 
as that. They thought that, by mumbling some magic 
words over a lump of dirt, it could be made to change 
into some living animal. Even in the last century 
learned societies in Europe and America spent most of 
their time arguing about this. One man reported that 
he took some perfectly pure water and kept it in a 
vessel for a few days, well closed up and, on examining 


CHEMISTRY IN THE LEAF 


33 


it later with a microscope, found little living bacteria. 
Therefore, he said, life is continuously arising from 
dead material. But there lived at that time a great 
Frenchman, Pasteur , 3 who could not bring himself to 
accept this; so he repeated the experiment of the water 
and the flasks and succeeded in proving that the bac¬ 
teria did not come from dead water but from other 
bacteria that were floating in the air. He showed that, 
if the water was carefully freed of all air and if the 
glass vessels were thoroughly washed with strong acids, 
then no bacteria appeared even after standing for years. 
Pasteur devoted his life to the study of bacteria. He 
is chiefly known for his great work in teaching us how 
to prevent diseases which some bacteria cause. So great 
is this service that people often lose sight of the fact 
that Pasteur was the first definitely to prove that life 
always springs from previously existing life. 

Ho doubt the reader has wondered, when we were 
speaking of cells and living matter, why we make no 
distinctions between plants and animals. Perhaps it 
seemed that there were two entirely different kinds of 
protoplasm, one for the plants and one for the animals. 
That is not true. There are, indeed, some regular differ¬ 
ences between animal cells and plant cells, but the 
differences are no greater than those between certain 
groups of plants and of animals. It is believed that, 
when life first appeared on this planet, it was in the 
form of a single cell even simpler than the amoeba which 
we would call neither a plant nor an animal; it was no 
more one than the other. . . . 

From this small beginning there arose all the ani¬ 
mals and plants that fill up the world today. Very far 

3 Compare Memoir on the Organized Corpuscles Which Exist in the 
Atmosphere , p. 63. 


34 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


back in time, when living things were still very simple, 
the family tree of life began gradually to separate into 
two branches. One branch later became the animal 
kingdom, the members of which lived by eating plants 
and their fellow animals. In order to do this, it was 
desirable that they move about over the ground or in 
the air or water so as to seize their prey. The other 
branch became the plants, which, as a rule, do not move 
but are fixed in the earth. The bark of a tree corre¬ 
sponds in a way to the bones of the skeleton of a man. 
Both the tree and the man need some sort of support 
for the body. But the tree, having no legs or arms to 
fight with, grows its skeleton on the outside for pro¬ 
tective purposes. 

This is one difference between plants and animals; 
but it is not a universal one, because there are some 
animals, such as oysters and crabs, which have their 
shells on the outside. But the most interesting distinc¬ 
tion between those branches of the family tree lies in 
the method of obtaining food. We animals are can¬ 
nibals, all of us. We all eat other living things. But 
the plant is more refined. Disdaining cannibalism, it 
has developed a factory in which the raw materials are 
air, water, and sunshine, and the product is-food for 
the plant to grow on. 

This chemical factory has a branch in every green 
leaf. Air is composed of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon 
dioxide. The green leaf absorbs carbon dioxide and 
water vapor, and puts them together to form sugar and 
starches, from which by further changes it produces 
wood. 

But here the insignificant little green leaf is a far 
better chemist than man is. Although this too has been 
studied for years and years, no one has ever found out 


CHEMISTRY IN THE LEAF 


35 


how the green leaf does it. If we did know, we could 
manufacture many of our foodstuffs from air and 
water, and the high cost of living would he a thing of 
the past. We said above that, besides air and water, 
the plant makes use of sunlight in its factory. It seems 
to have a very highly complicated arrangement for 
transforming the energy of sunlight into that of chemi¬ 
cal combination. This arrangement is quite firmly 
bound up with protoplasm, and it may he that we shall 
not solve the problem of manufacturing food from air 
before we have learned the secret of the living cell. 

It is interesting to trace the source of the energy one 
obtains when he eats a hit of bread. The flour from 
which the bread is made comes from the wheat grain, 
and the wheat grain is manufactured by the wheat plant 
out of air, water, and sunshine. The source of energy 
is the sun, nearly one hundred million miles away. 

In the leaves of most plants there is a brilliant green 
dye, called chlorophyll . 4 We are certain that this chlo¬ 
rophyll is the substance which in some way converts 
sunlight into useful chemical energy, hut we are not 
sure just how it does it. 

We must not leave the subject of protoplasm without 
remarking upon the very great importance of the com¬ 
mon substance water, in everything that has to do with 
life. Protoplasm itself is about two-thirds water, and 
if any considerable amount of the water in the proto¬ 
plasm of the cell is removed, the cell dies. We have 
already seen how the water vapor which is always pres¬ 
ent in the air is one of the raw materials from which 
the green leaf manufactures sugars and starches. 

It should he noticed that, in a certain sense, plants 
are closer to nature than animals. For there is no 
4 Compare Greenness and Vitamin “A,” p. 138. 


36 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


animal which, can make direct use of the energy of the 
sun. He must eat a plant which has grown by absorb¬ 
ing the sun’s rays. It may he objected that many ani¬ 
mals eat other animals, but if we follow it far enough, 
we always find that the original energy was obtained 
from the sun through the medium of some plant. 

There is yet another matter in which the plant makes 
itself absolutely necessary to man and all other animals. 
The bodies of animals all contain very large amounts 
of compounds of the element carbon. When the body 
of an animal does work, some of these carbon compounds 
are broken down into simple substances which are of 
no further use to the body and which, like the ashes 
in a locomotive firebox, have to he removed or else they 
will clog the machinery. Animals remove a portion 
of these poisonous clinkers by causing them to combine 
with oxygen, producing the gaseous substance, carbon 
dioxide. First of all, these waste products get into the 
blood, and the blood at one stage of its circulation 
through the body passes through the lungs, in which 
it is separated from the air we breathe only by very 
thin membranes. The oxygen of the air which the 
animal breathes in diffuses through the membrane into 
the blood and there combines with the carbon to form 
carbon dioxide. This gas then passes hack through the 
membrane and is poured out into the air when we ex¬ 
hale. 

Thus animals are continuously breathing in oxygen 
and breathing out carbon dioxide. There is a lot of 
air in the world, but there are also a great many ani¬ 
mals. If what has been said were the whole story, it 
will he plain that the oxygen of the air would have 
long since been used up and all the animals' would have 
died. But the plants come to our rescue. Through 


CHEMISTRY IN THE LEAF 


37 


their leaves they take in the carbon dioxide which we 
have exhaled and, besides using it to produce food, also 
send out a quantity of oxygen into the air. That ex¬ 
plains why the amount of oxygen in the air is always 
about the same, although animals are continuously us¬ 
ing it up. It will* also be clear now why large parks 
filled with green trees and other plants are very desir¬ 
able in a crowded city. 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 1 

by Samuel Pierpont Langley 

The “ new astronomy ” of which the author here writes, had 
its beginning in the little telescope and the great brain of 
Galileo, so that before reading this the reader should turn 
back to Galileo’s life. 

Samuel Pierpont Langley will always be remembered first, 
although he was a famous astronomer, as the inventor of the 
first heavier-than-air flying machine. His model was only 
about sixteen feet long and twelve feet wide and was driven 
by a one and one-half horse-power steam engine, weighing 
twenty-six ounces. Launched from rails, this machine stayed 
in the air along the Potomac River, near Washington, for a 
minute and a half, making a flight of more than a half-mile, 
before gently sinking to the water. Had it not been for a 
faulty launching device, there is no doubt but that Langley 
would have been the first to fly a man-carrying machine. He 
finally had to give up his experiments for lack of funds. 

This scientist was born in Boston, Massachusetts, August 
22, 1834. He began his career as a teacher of mathematics in 
the United States Naval Academy. From there he became, in 
1867, director of the Allegheny Observatory at Pittsburgh, 
where he remained for many years. While there, he invented 
an exceedingly delicate astronomical instrument, at the same 
time studying the problem of flight. In his later years he was 
secretary of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington, a posi¬ 
tion he held until his death in 1906, two years before the 
Wright brothers made their successful flight. Langley’s model 
plane is now exhibited in the National Museum at Washington 
not far from Lindbergh’s “ Spirit of St. Louis.” Not much 
more than a quarter of a century separates the two. 

In this selection we have Langley, the astronomer, speaking, 

1 From The New Astronomy. Houghton Mifflin, 1891. 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 39 

and it is not difficult to see from it that he was a man of rare 
imagination. 

Before we read his article it is well to recall what we see 
as we look up into the sky. Because of the earth’s spinning 
on its axis, making one complete rotation in a day, all the 
objects in the heavens — sun, moon, and stars — seem to be 
moving all together at a uniform gait in the big parade from 
east to west. Then, too, the earth has its yearly revolution 
about the sun, which accounts for the fact that the sun seems 
to have a very different path through the sky in summer, when 
it is high overhead at noon, than in winter when it stays closer 
to the horizon in the northern hemisphere. This yearly revolu¬ 
tion about the sun also allows us to see some groups of stars 
only in winter and others only in summer. The brightest of 
the starry host are the most out of step in this daily parade. 
The moon, because of its motion about the earth once in 
twenty-eight days, is constantly changing with reference to its 
background of stars, and this is true also of those sister wan¬ 
derers of the earth about the sun, the planets Venus, Mars, 
Jupiter, Saturn, and the rarely seen Mercury. In its revolu¬ 
tion about the earth, the moon acts just as though it were 
being swung about the earth on a string, always showing the 
same side to earthdwellers. If we should travel to South 
Africa, we might think we were seeing a new side of the moon, 
because the familiar markings would appear inverted; that is 
to say, we should have traveled half-way round the globe until 
we were upside down. 

W HEN" we look up at the heavens, we see, if we 
watcb through, the night, the host of stars rising 
in the east and passing above us to sink in the west, 
always at the same distance and in unchanging order, 
each seeming a point of light as feeble as the glow¬ 
worm’s shine in the meadow over which they are ris¬ 
ing, each flickering as though the evening wind would 
blow it out. The infant stretches out its hand to grasp 
the Pleiades; but when the child has become an old 
man, the “ seven stars ” are still there unchanged, dim 
only in his aged sight, and proving themselves the en- 


40 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


during substance, while it is bis own life wbicb bas 
gone, as tbe sbine of tbe glowworm in tbe nigbt. They 
were there just the same a hundred generations ago, 
before the Pyramids were built; and they will tremble 
there still, when the Pyramids have been worn down to 
dust with the blowing of the desert sand against their 
granite sides. They watched the earth grow fit for 
man long before man came, and they doubtless will be 
shining on when our poor human race itself has dis¬ 
appeared from the surface of this planet. 

Probably there is no one of us who has not felt this 
solemn sense of their almost infinite duration as com¬ 
pared with his own little portion of time, and it would 
be a worthy subject for our thought if we could study 
them in the light that the New Astronomy sheds for 
us on their nature. But I must here confine myself to 
the description of but a few of their number and speak, 
not of the infinite multitude and variety of stars, each 
a self-shining sun, but only of those which move close 
at hand; for it is not true of quite all that they keep 
at the same distance and order. 

Of the whole celestial army which the naked eye 
watches, there are five stars which do change their 
places in the ranks, and these change in an irregular 
and capricious manner, going about among the others, 
now forward and now back, as if lost and wandering in 
the sky. These wanderers were long since known by 
distinct names, as Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and 
Saturn, and believed to be nearer than the others; and 
they are, in fact, companions to the earth and fed like 
it by the warmth of our sun, and like the moon are 
visible by the sunlight which they reflect to us. With 
the earliest use of the telescope, it was found that, while 
the other stars remained in it mere points of light as 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


41 


before, these became magnified into disks on wbicb 
markings were visible, and the markings have been 
found with our modern instruments, in one case at least, 
to take the appearance of oceans and snow-capped con¬ 
tinents and islands. These, then, are not uninhabitable 
self-shining suns, but worlds, vivified from the same 
fount of energy that supplies us, and the possible abode 
of creatures like ourselves. 

“ Properly speaking/’ it is said, “ man is the only 
subject of interest to man”; and if'we have cared to 
study the uninhabitable sun because all that goes on 
there is found to be so intimately related to us, it is 
surely a reasonable curiosity which prompts the question 
so often heard as to the presence of life on these neighbor 
worlds, where it seems at least not impossible that life 
should exist. Even the very little we can say in an¬ 
swer to this question will always be interesting; but 
we must regretfully admit at the outset that it is but 
little and that with some planets, like Mercury and 
Yenus, the great telescopes of modern times cannot 
do much more than those of Galileo, with which our 
New Astronomy had its beginning, though perhaps it 
should be added that Schiaparelli’s late observations of 
these two planets seem to show that they always turn 
the same face toward the sun, just as the moon does 
toward the earth. 

Let us leave these then and pass out to the confines of 
the planetary system. 

The outer planets, Neptune and Uranus, remain pale 
disks in the most powerful instruments, the first at¬ 
tended by a single moon, the second by four, barely 
visible; and there is so very little yet known about 
their physical features, that we shall do better to give 
our attention to one of the most interesting objects in 


42 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


the whole heavens — the planet Saturn, on which we 
can at any rate see enough to arouse a lively curiosity 
to know more. 

When Galileo first turned his glass on Saturn, he 
saw, as he thought, that it consisted of three spheres 
close together, the middle one being the largest. He 
was not quite sure of the fact and was in a dilemma 
between his desire to wait longer for further observa¬ 
tion and his fear that some other observer might an¬ 
nounce the discovery if he hesitated. To combine these 
incompatibilities — to announce it so as to secure the 
priority, and yet not announce it till he was ready—• 
might seem to present as great a difficulty as the dis¬ 
covery itself; but Galileo solved this, as we may 
remember, by writing it in the sentence, “ Altissimum 
planetam tergeminum observavi” (“I have observed 
the highest planet to he triple”), and then throwing it 
(in the printer’s phrase) into “ pi,” which made the 
sentence into the monstrous word, SMA JSMBMJLME- 
BOET ALE VMP JP VNENVGTTAYJRAS, and pub¬ 
lishing this, which contained his discovery, hut under 
lock and key. He had reason to congratulate himself 
on his prudence, for within two years two of the sup¬ 
posed bodies disappeared, leaving only one. This was 
in 1612 ; and for nearly fifty years Saturn continued 
to all astronomers the enigma which it was to Galileo, 
till in 1656 it was finally made clear that it was sur¬ 
rounded by a thin flat ring, which, when seen fully, 
gave rise to the first appearance in Galileo’s small tele¬ 
scope and, when seen edgewise, disappeared from its 
view altogether. Everything in this part of our work 
depends on the power of the telescope we employ; and 
in describing the modern means of observation, we pass 
over two centuries of slow advance, each decade of 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


43 


I 

which has marked some progress in the instrument, to 
one of its completest types, in the great equatorial at 
Washington. 

The revolving dome above, the great tube beneath, 
its massive pier, and all its accessories are only means 
to carry and direct the great lens at the further end, 
which acts the part of the lens in our own eye and 
forms the image of the thing to be looked at. Galileo’s 
original lens was a single piece of glass, rather smaller 
than that of our common spectacles; but the lens here 
is composed of two pieces, each twenty-six inches in 
diameter, and collects as much light as a human eye 
would do if over two feet across. But this is useless if 
the lens is not shaped with such precision as to send 
every ray to its proper place at the eye piece, nearly 
thirty-five feet away; and, in fact, the shape given its 
surface by the skillful hands of Messrs. Clark, who 
made it, is so exquisitely exact that all the light of a 
star gathered by this great surface is packed at the dis¬ 
tant focus into a circle very much smaller than that 
made by the dot on this i, and the same statement may 
he made of the great Lick glass, which is three feet 
in diameter, an accuracy we might call incredible 
were it not certain. It is with instruments of such ac¬ 
curacy that astronomy now works, and it is with this 
particular one that some of the observations we are 
going to describe have been made. 

In all the heavens there is no more wonderful object 
than Saturn, for it preserves to us an apparent type of 
the plan on which all the worlds were originally made. 
Let us look at it in this study by Trouvelot. The 
planet, we must remember, is a globe nearly seventy 
thousand miles in diameter, and the outermost ring is 
over one hundred and fifty thousand miles across, so 


44 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

that the proportionate size of our earth would he over¬ 
represented here by a pea laid on the engraving. The 
belts on the globe show delicate tints of brown and 
blue, and parts of the ring are, as a whole, brighter 
than the planet; hut this ring, as the reader may see, 
consists of at least three main divisions, each itself con¬ 
taining separate features. Hirst is the gray outer ring, 
then the middle one, and next the curious “ crape ” 



ring, very much darker than the others, looking like 
a belt where it crosses the planet, and apparently feebly 
transparent, for the outline of the globe has been seen 
(though not very distinctly) through it. The whole 
system of rings is of the most amazing thinness, for it 
is probably thinner in proportion to its size than the 
paper on which this is printed is to the width of the 
page; and when it is turned edgewise to us, it disap¬ 
pears to all hut the most powerful telescopes, in which 
it looks then like the thinnest conceivable line of light, 



THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


45 


on which the moons have been seen projected, appearing 
like beads sliding along a golden wire. The globe of the 
planet casts on the ring a shadow, which is here shown 
as a broken line, as though the level of the rings were 
suddenly disturbed. At other times (as in a beautiful 
drawing made with the same instrument by Professor 
Holden) the line seems continuous, though curved as 
though the middle of the ring system were thicker than 
the edge. The rotation of the ring has been made out 
by direct observations; and the whole is in motion 
about the globe, a motion so smooth and steady that 
there is no flickering in the shadow “ where Saturn’s 
steadfast shade sleeps on its luminous ring.” 

What is it? Ho solid could hold together under such 
conditions; we can hardly admit the possibility of its 
being a liquid film extended in space; and there are diffi¬ 
culties in admitting it to be gaseous. But if not a 
solid, a liquid, or a gas, again what can it be ? It was 
suggested nearly two centuries ago that the ring might 
be composed of innumerable little bodies like meteor¬ 
ites, circling round the globe so close together as to give 
the appearance we see, much as a swarm of bees at a 
distance looks like a continuous cloud; and this remains 
the most plausible solution of what is still in some de¬ 
gree a mystery. Whatever it be, we see in the ring the 
condition of things which, according to the nebular 
hypothesis, once pertained to all the planets at a cer¬ 
tain stage of their formation; and this, with the extra¬ 
ordinary lightness of the globe (for the whole planet 
would float on water), makes us look on it as still in 
the formative stage of uncondensed matter, where the 
solid land as yet is not, and the foot could find no rest¬ 
ing place. Astrology figured Saturn as “ spiteful and 
cold, an old man melancholy ”; but if we may indulge 


46 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


such a speculation, modern astronomy rather leads us 
to think of it as in the infancy of its life, with every 
process of planetary growth still in its future and sepa¬ 
rated by an almost unlimited stretch of years from the 
time when life under the conditions in which we know 
it can even begin to exist. 

Like this appears also the condition of Jupiter, the 
greatest of the planets, whose globe, eighty-eight thou¬ 
sand miles in diameter, turns so rapidly that the cen¬ 
trifugal force causes a visible flattening. The belts 
which stretch across its disk are of all delicate tints — 
some pale blue, some of a crimson lake; a sea-green patch 
has been seen, and at intervals of late years there has 
been a great oval red spot, which has now nearly gone. 
. . . The belts are largely, if not wholly, formed of roll¬ 
ing clouds, drifting and changing under our eyes, though 
more rarely a feature like the oval spot just mentioned 
will last for years, an enduring enigma. The most 
recent observations tend to make us believe that the 
equatorial regions of Jupiter, like those of the sun, 
make more turns in a year than the polar ones, while 
the darkening toward the edge is another sunlike fea¬ 
ture, though perhaps due to a distinct cause, and this 
is beautifully brought out when any one of the four 
moons which circle the planet passes between us and 
its face. . . . The moon, as it steals on the com¬ 
paratively dark edge, shows us a little circle of an 
almost lemon yellow, hut the effect of contrast grows 
less as it approaches the center. Next (or sometimes 
before), the disk is invaded by a small and intensely 
black spot, the shadow of the moon, which slides across 
the planet’s face, the transit lasting long enough for 
us to see that the whole great globe, serving as a back¬ 
ground for the spectacle, has visibly revolved on its 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


47 


axis since we began to gaze. Photography, in the skill¬ 
ful hands of the late Professor Henry Draper, gave ns 
reason to suspect the possibility that a dull light is sent 
to us from parts of the planet’s surface besides what it 
reflects, as though it were still feebly glowing like a 
nearly extinguished sun; and on the whole, a main inter¬ 
est of these features lies in the presumption they create 
that the giant planet is not yet fit to be the abode of life, 
but is more probably in a condition like that of our 
earth millions of years since, in a past so remote that 
geology only infers its existence, and long before our 
own race began to be. That science, indeed, itself 
teaches us that such all but infinite periods are needed 
to prepare a planet for man’s abode, that the entire 
duration of his race upon it is probably brief in com¬ 
parison. 

We pass by the belt of asteroids and over a distance 
many times greater than that which separates the earth 
from the sun, till we approach our own world. Here, 
close beside it as it were, in comparison with the enor¬ 
mous spaces which * intervene between it and Saturn 
and Jupiter, we find a planet whose size and features 
are in striking contrast to those of the great globe we 
have just quitted. It is Mars, which shines so red and 
looks so large in the sky because it is so near, but whose 
diameter is only about half that of our earth. This is 
indeed properly to be called a neighbor world, but the 
planetary spaces are so immense that this neighbor- 
is at closest still about thirty-four million miles 
away. 

Looking across that great gulf, we see ... a globe 
not marked by the belts of Jupiter or Saturn, but with 
outlines as of continents and islands, which pass in 
turn before our eyes as it revolves in a little over 


48 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


twenty-four and a half of our hours, while at either 
pole is a white spot. Sir William Herschel was the 
first to notice that this spot increased in size when it 
was turned away from the sun and diminished when the 
solar heat fell on it; so that we have what is almost 
proof that here is ice (and consequently water) on an¬ 
other world. Then, as we study more, we discern forms 
which move from day to day on the globe apart from 
its rotation, and we recognize in them clouds sweeping 
over the surface, not a surface of still other clouds 
below, but of what we have good reason to believe to he 
land and water. . . . Here we see the surface more 
diversified than that of our earth, while the oceans are 
long, narrow, canal-like seas, which everywhere invade 
the land, so that on Mars one could travel almost every¬ 
where by water. These canals have appeared to some 
observers to exist in pairs, or to resemble two close 
parallel lines; hut this cannot be said to be at present 
wholly certain. The spectroscope indicates water va¬ 
por in the Martial atmosphere, and some of the conti¬ 
nents, like “ Lockyer Land,” are sometimes seen white, 
as though covered with ice; while one island . . . has 
been seen so frequently thus that it is very probable 
that here some mountain or table land rises into the 
region of perpetual snow. 

The cause of the red color of Mars has never been 
satisfactorily ascertained. Its atmosphere does not ap¬ 
pear to be dark enough to produce such an effect, and 
perhaps as probable an explanation as any is one the 
suggestion of which is a little startling at first. It is 
that the vegetation on Mars may be red instead of 
green! There is no intrinsic improbability in the idea, 
for we are even today unprepared to say with any cer¬ 
tainty why vegetation is green here, and it is quite 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


49 


easy to conceive of atmospheric conditions which would 
make red the best absorber of the solar heat. Here, 
then, we find a planet on which we obtain many of the 
conditions of life which we know ourselves and here, 
if anywhere in the system, we may allowably inquire 
for evidence of the presence of something like our own 
race; but though we may indulge in supposition, there 
is unfortunately no prospect that with any conceivable 
improvement in our telescopes we shall ever obtain any¬ 
thing like certainty. We cannot assert that there are 
any bounds to man’s inventions, or that science may 
not, by some means as unknown to us as the spectro¬ 
scope was to our grandfathers, achieve what now seems 
impossible; but to our present knowledge no such means 
exist, though we are not forbidden to look at the ruddy 
planet with the feeling that it may hold possibilities 
more interesting to our humanity than all the wonders 
of the sun and all the uninhabitable immensities of his 
other worlds. 

Before we leave Mars, we may recall to the reader’s 
memory the extraordinary verification of a statement 
made about it more than a hundred years ago. We 
shall have for a moment to leave the paths of science 
for those of pure fiction, for the words we are going 
to quote are those of no less a person than our old friend 
Captain Gulliver, who, after his adventures with the 
Lilliputians, went to a flying island inhabited largely 
by astronomers. If the reader will take down his copy 
of Swift, he will find in this voyage of Gulliver’s to 
Laputa the following imaginary description of what its 
imaginary astronomers saw: 

They have likewise discovered two lesser stars or satellites 
which revolve around Mars, whereof the innermost is dis¬ 
tant from the center of the primary planet exactly three 


50 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


of its diameters, and the outermost five; the former re¬ 
volves in the space of ten hours, and the latter in twenty- 
one and a half. 

Now compare this passage, which was published in 
the year 1727, with the announcement in the scientific 
journals of August, 1877 (a hundred and fifty years 
after), that two moons did exist, and had just been 
discovered by Professor Hall, of Washington. . . . 
The resemblance does not even end here, for Swift was 
right also in describing them as very near the planet 
and with very short periods (the actual distances being 
about one and a half and seven diameters) and the 
actual times about eight and thirty hours respectively 
— distances and periods which, if not exactly those of 
Swift’s description, agree with it in being less than 
any before known in the solar system. It is certain 
that there could not have been the smallest ground for 
a suspicion of their existence when Gulliver’s Travels 
was written, and the coincidence — which is a pure 
coincidence — certainly approaches the miraculous. 
We can no longer, then, properly speak of the “ snowy 
poles of moonless Mars,” though it does still remain 
moonless to all but the most powerful telescopes in the 
world, for these bodies are the very smallest known in 
the system. They present no visible disks to measure, 
but look like the faintest of points of light, and their 
size is only to be guessed from their brightness. Pro¬ 
fessor Pickering has carried on an interesting investiga¬ 
tion of them. His method depended in part on getting 
holes of such smallness made in a plate of metal that 
the light coming through them would be comparable 
with that of the Martial moons in the telescope. It 
was found almost impossible to command the skill to 
make these holes small enough, though one of the artists 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


51 


employed had already distinguished himself by drilling 
a hole through a fine cambric needle lengthwise, so as 
to make a tiny steel tube of it. When the difficulty was 
at last overcome, the satellites were found to be less 
than ten miles in diameter, and a just impression both 
of their apparent size and light may he gathered from 
the statement that either roughly corresponds to that 
which would he given by a human hand held up at 
Washington and viewed from Boston, Massachusetts, a 
distance of four hundred miles. 

We approach now the only planet in which man is 
certainly known to exist and which ought to have an 
interest for us superior to any which we have yet seen, 
for it is our own. We are voyagers on it through space, 
it has been said, as passengers on a ship, and many of 
us have never thought of any part of the vessel hut the 
cabin where we are quartered. Some curious passen¬ 
gers (these are the geographers) have visited the steer¬ 
age, and some (the geologists) have looked under the 
hatches, and yet it remains true that those on one part 
of our vessel know little, even now, of their fellow- 
voyagers in another. How much less, then, do most of 
us know of the ship itself, for we were all born on it 
and have never once been off it to view it from the 
outside! 

No world comes so near us in the aerial ocean as the 
moon; and if we desire to view our own earth as a 
planet, we may put ourselves in fancy in the place of 
a lunar observer. “ Is it inhabited ? ” would probably 
be one of the first questions which he would ask, if he 
had the same interest in us that we have in him; and 
the answer to this would call out all the powers of the 
best telescopes such as we possess. 

An old author, Fontenelle, has put into the mouth 


52 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

of an imaginary spectator a lively description of what 
would be visible in twenty-four hours to one looking 
down on the earth as it turned round beneath him. I 
see passing under my eyes,” he says, “ all sorts of faces, 
white and black and olive and brown. Now it’s hats, 
and now turbans, now long locks and then shaven 
crowns; now come cities with steeples, next more with 
tall, crescent-capped minarets, then others with por¬ 
celain towers; now great desolate lands, now great 
oceans, then dreadful deserts — in short, all the infinite 
variety the earth’s surface bears.” The truth is, how¬ 
ever, that, looking at the earth from the moon, the 
largest moving animal, the whale or the elephant, would 
be utterly beyond our ken; and it is questionable 
whether the largest ship on the ocean would be visible, 
for the popular idea as to the magnifying power of 
great telescopes is exaggerated. It is probable that 
under any but extraordinary circumstances our lunar 
observer, with our best telescopes, could not bring the 
earth within less than an apparent distance of five 
hundred miles; and the reader may judge how large a 
moving object must be to be seen, much less recognized, 
by the naked eye at such a distance. 

Of course, a chief interest of the supposition we are 
making lies in the fact that it will give us a measure 
of our own ability to discover evidences of life in the 
moon, if there are any such as exist here; and in this 
point of view it is worth while to repeat that scarcely 
any temporary phenomenon due to human action could 
be even telescopically visible from the moon under the 
most favoring circumstances. An army such as Na¬ 
poleon led to Russia might conceivably be visible if it 
moved in a dark solid column across the snow. It is 
barely possible that such a vessel as one of the largest 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


53 


ocean steamships might be seen, under very favorable 
circumstances, as a moving dot; and it is even quite 
probable that such a conflagration as the great fire at 
Chicago would be visible in the lunar telescope, as 
something like a reddish star on the night side of our 
planet; but this is all in this sort that could be dis¬ 
cerned. 

By making minute maps, or still better, photographs, 
and comparing one year with another, much, however, 
might have been done by our lunar observer during 
this century. In its beginning, in comparison to the 
vast forests which then covered the North American 
continent, the cultivated fields along its eastern sea¬ 
board would have looked to him like a golden fringe 
bordering a broad mantle of green; hut now he would 
see that the golden fringe has encroached upon the 
green farther hack than the Mississippi, and he would 
gather his best evidence of change from the fact (surely 
a noteworthy one) that the people of the United States 
have altered the features of the world during the pres¬ 
ent century to a degree visible in another planet! 

Our observer would probably he struck by the mov¬ 
ing panorama of forests, lakes, continents, islands, and 
oceans, successively gliding through the field of view of 
his telescope as the earth revolved; but traveling along 
beside it on his lunar station, he would hardly appre¬ 
ciate its actual flight through space, which is an easy 
thing to describe in figures and a hard one to conceive. 
If we look up at the clock, and as we watch the pendu¬ 
lum recall that we have moved about nineteen miles at 
every heat, or in less than three minutes, over a dis¬ 
tance greater than that which divides New York from 
Liverpool, we still probably hut very imperfectly real¬ 
ize the fact that (dropping all metaphor) the earth is 


54 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

really a great projectile, heavier than the heaviest of 
her surface rocks, and traversing space with a velocity 
of over sixty times that of the cannon ball. Even the 
firing of a great gun with a hall weighing one or two 
hundred pounds is, to the novice at least, a striking 
spectacle. The massive iron sphere is hoisted into the 
gun, the discharge comes, the ground trembles, and, as 
it seems, almost in the same instant, a jet rises where 
the ball has touched the water far away. The impres¬ 
sion of immense velocity and of a resistless capacity of 
destruction in that flying mass is irresistible, and justi¬ 
fiable, too. But what is this hall to that of the earth, 
which is a globe counting eight thousand miles in diam¬ 
eter and weighing about six thousand millions of mil¬ 
lions of tons; which, if our cannon ball were flying 
ahead a mile in advance of its track, would overtake 
it in less than the tenth part of a second and which 
carries such a potency of latent destruction and death 
in this motion that, if it were possible instantly to arrest 
it, then, in that instant, “ earth and all which it inherits 
would dissolve 99 and pass away in vapor ? 

Our turning sphere is moving through what seems 
to be all but an infinite void, peopled only by wander¬ 
ing meteorites, and where warmth from any other source 
than the sun can scarcely be said to exist; for it is im¬ 
portant to observe that, whether the interior be molten 
or not, we get next to no heat from it. The cold of 
outer space can only be estimated in view of recent ob¬ 
servations as at least four hundred degrees Fahrenheit 
below zero (mercury freezes at thirty-nine degrees be¬ 
low), and it is the sun which makes up the difference 
of all these lacking hundreds of degrees to us, but 
indirectly, and not in the way that we might naturally 
think, and have till very lately thought; for our atmos- 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 


55 


phere has a great deal to do with it beside the direct solar 
rays, allowing more to come in than to go out, until 
the temperature rises very much higher than it would 
were there no air here. Thus, since it is this power in 
the atmosphere of storing the heat which makes us live, 
no less than the sun’s rays themselves, we see how the 
temperature of a planet may depend on considerations 
quite beside, its distance from the sun; and when we 
discuss the possibility of life in other worlds, we shall 
do well to remember that Saturn may he possibly a 
warm world and Mercury conceivably a> cold one. 

We used to be told that this atmosphere extended 
forty-five miles above us, hut later observation proves 
its existence at a height of many times this; and a re¬ 
markable speculation, which Dr. Hunt strengthens with 
the great name of Newton, even contemplates it as ex¬ 
tending in ever-increasing tenuity until it touches and 
merges in the atmosphere of other worlds. 

But if we begin to talk of things new and old which 
interest us in our earth as a planet, it is hard to make 
an end. Still we may observe that it is the very famili¬ 
arity of some of these which hinder us from seeing them 
as the wonders they really are. How has this famili¬ 
arity, for instance, made commonplace to us not only 
the wonderful fact that the fields and forests, and the 
apparently endless plain of earth and ocean, are really 
parts of a great globe which is turning round (for this 
rotation we are all familiar with), hut the less appre¬ 
ciated miracle that we are all being hurled through 
space with an immensely greater speed than that of the 
rotation itself! It needs the vision of a poet to see this 
daily miracle with new eyes; and a great poet has de¬ 
scribed it for us, in words which may vivify our scien¬ 
tific conception. Let us recall the prologue to Faust, 


56 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


where the archangels are praising the works of the 
Lord and looking at the earth, not as we see it, but down 
on it, from heaven, as it passes by, and notice that it is 
precisely this miraculous swiftness, so insensible to us, 
which calls out an angel’s wonder. 

And swift and swift beyond conceiving 
The splendor of the world goes round, 

Day’s Eden-brightness still relieving 
The awful Night’s intense profound. 

The ocean tides in foam are breaking, 

Against the rocks’ deep bases hurled, 

And both, the spheric race partaking, 

Eternal, swift, are onward whirled. 


THE STORY OF PASTEUR 

by Mary Geisler Pliilliys 

P ASTEUR, who “ saved more lives than Hapoleon 
destroyed 77 ; Pasteur, “ the greatest benefactor of 
mankind since the time of Jesus Christ 77 ; Pasteur, “ the 
greatest name of the nineteenth century 77 — these are 
some of the things that have been said about this re¬ 
markable scientist, whose work has left consequences 
of such tremendous value. We all speak familiarly of 
“ pasteurization/ 7 meaning by that the heating of a 
substance to a definite temperature long enough to kill 
the germs. And we speak more familiarly of “ germs.’ 7 
Germs were the discovery of Pasteur, as was also the 
method of destroying them. There is scarcely a corner 
of the world today in which we cannot find canned 
food, yet before this man lived, there was no way in 
which to preserve foods which could not be smoked or 
dried or preserved in sugar. Before Pasteur labored in 
his laboratory and experimented on animals, there was 
no vaccination to protect us from smallpox and other 
deadly diseases, and there was no way in which any one 
bitten by a mad dog could escape death. Once when 
he was sorely anxious about his work, he said, “ God 
grant that by my persevering labors I may bring a little 
stone to the frail and ill-assured edifice of our knowl¬ 
edge of those deep mysteries of Life and Death where 
all our intellects have so lamentably failed. 77 The world 
now knows that instead of “ a little stone 77 Pasteur laid 


58 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

the greatest foundation stones of modern medicine with 
his researches. 

Louis Pasteur was the son of a soldier who fought 
under Napoleon, a patriot who passed on to his son his 
deep love for France. The boy, born at Dole, France, 
on December 27, 1822, went to school near home until 
he was sixteen years old; then at considerable sacrifice 
on the part of his parents he was sent to Paris. But 
Louis became so homesick that he could not work and 
felt really ill, so that after sticking it out a few months, 
his father let him come home. However, when he was 
a little older, Louis did go away to college, finishing 
his education at the Ecole Normale, Paris, where later 
he was to teach. It was about this time that he defi¬ 
nitely decided to devote his life to science, the motive 
underlying this decision, aside from his thirst for truth, 
being love for his fellow men. He would make the world 
a better place to live in, he would relieve suffering, he 
would bring his research to bear upon practical prob¬ 
lems of living! And all this he did, being fortunate 
enough to live to see the results of his labors give a 
tremendous new impulse to many branches of science. 

The first work to bring him renown, which won for 
him the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor, was a mi¬ 
croscopic study of crystals, carried out while he was 
still a student. His first professorship was that of 
physics; then he taught chemistry, and so keen was his 
enthusiasm that he inspired his students, who flocked 
to hear him lecture, with his own devotion to science. 

While Pasteur was dean of the Faculty of Science at 
Lille, he was living in the heart of the great wine coun¬ 
try of northern France; and when he found the owners 
of distilleries worried over wine which “ went bad,” or 
soured, he set about finding out the cause. With his 


THE STORY OF PASTEUR 


59 


faithful microscope, which was always beside him, he 
examined the results of his experiments, testing, judg¬ 
ing, leaving no loophole for errors, going to the very 
bottom of the question. Finally he became convinced 
that the souring of wine could he traced to the presence 
of tiny living bodies from the air — “ bacteria,” we 
call them now, hut Pasteur referred to them as “ or¬ 
ganized corpuscles of the atmosphere.” He advised 
the wine makers to heat the wine at a definite tem¬ 
perature for several minutes out of contact with air, in 
order to destroy these tiny living things. The process 
we now call “ pasteurization ” is so well known to us that 
it is difficult to remember that, when the grandfathers 
and grandmothers of students of today were babies, 
their milk was never pasteurized to keep it sweet. There 
were no canned meats and vegetables in the pantries, 
since these too have been made possible only through 
Pasteur’s work. Hot only that, hut far worse, our grand¬ 
parents’ parents had never heard of germs! 

Pasteur was the first scientist to discover that the 
air about us is full of these floating germs, some of 
which, falling into the wine, make it sour; others fall¬ 
ing upon bread grow into tufts of white mold; others 
falling upon meat, cause it to decay; and so on, each 
kind upon coming in contact with suitable soil for 
growth multiplying and having an appreciable effect 
upon the medium. This set Pasteur to thinking about 
a question which had been discussed for centuries, that 
of spontaneous generation. It had been discussed and 
wrangled over, hut none had attempted to prove it. 
How Pasteur performed some experiments, and they 
were so clear and so simple and so conclusive that the 
question was settled once for all — there is no such thing 
as spontaneous generation; that is, no living thing 


60 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


springs from something dead, for life always comes from 
life. “ Never will the doctrine of spontaneous genera¬ 
tion recover from the mortal blow of this simple ex¬ 
periment/’ Pasteur said in his address at the Sorbonne, 
April 7, 1864. And it never has — it is as dead as a 
door nail even though some boys still believe that a 
horse hair in a rain barrel will turn into a snake! Some 
of his experiments are given in the accompanying mem¬ 
oir. They sound very simple to any one who has worked 
in a chemical laboratory, hut they had never been 
thought of before and were epoch-making in their 
results. 

But Pasteur had only begun. In 1865, when our 
Civil W r ar was just ending, he was called to the south 
of Prance to help the manufacturers of silk. The silk¬ 
worms were dying of a mysterious disease, and the en¬ 
tire industry was threatened. For six years Pasteur 
worked on this baffling problem, though he would much 
rather have been working in his laboratory in Paris, 
never giving up, and he finally discovered the cause — a 
microorganism in the body of the diseased silkworms. 
He not only discovered the cause but he also found a 
remedy, and more important still, he now had the clue 
to the cause of human disease. If microorganisms 
could cause disease in silkworms, putrefaction in meat, 
fermentation in wine, why not disease in higher 
animals ? 

His next great triumph was his work with a disease 
of cattle called “ anthrax,” for not only did he discover 
the germ causing this dreaded epidemic, hut he de¬ 
veloped his method of vaccination to prevent the disease. 
It would he impossible to calculate the number of sheep 
and cattle saved from anthrax by vaccination, and it 
would he just as impossible to estimate the number of 


THE STORY OF PASTEUR 


61 


people saved from smallpox by Pasteur’s great dis¬ 
covery. We take vaccination for granted, and most of 
us bear on our bodies that “mark of Pasteur,” little 
realizing bow much of suffering we are spared and bow 
many lives are saved because be toiled long hours in a 
laboratory. 

Now came tbe crowning achievement of bis life. In 
1885, Pasteur was able to produce a vaccine for tbe 
terrible disease, hydrophobia, which follows the bite 
of a mad dog. The whole world knew what Pasteur 
was working on; ‘and just before he was ready to an¬ 
nounce his results, word came from a country town of a 
shepherd boy who had been bitten by a mad dog. Sure 
death would follow, unless Pasteur’s treatment would 
work. But it had never yet been tried on a human be¬ 
ing ! Reluctantly, fearfully, Pasteur sent for the child 
and injected his serum, for it might be that the serum 
itself would kill the boy! His feeling is described by 
his biographer, Rene Vallery-Radot: “ Pasteur was go¬ 
ing through a succession of hopes, fears, anguish, and 
an ardent yearning to snatch little Meister from death; 
he could no longer work. At night feverish visions 
came to him of this child, whom he had seen playing in 
the garden, suffocating in the mad struggles of hydro¬ 
phobia, like the dying child he had seen at the Hopital 
Trousseau in 1880. Vainly his experimental genius as¬ 
sured him that the virus of that most terrible of diseases 
was about to be vanquished, that humanity was about 
to be delivered from this dread horror — his human 
tenderness w T as stronger than all, his accustomed ready 
sympathy for the sufferings and anxieties of others was 
for the nonce centered in ‘ the dear lad.’. . . 

“ Cured from his wounds, delighted with all he saw, 
gayly running about as if he had been in his own Alsa- 


62 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


tian farm, little Meister, whose blue eyes now showed 
neither fear nor shyness, merrily received the last in¬ 
oculation; in the evening, after claiming a kiss from 
‘ Dear Monsieur Pasteur/ as he called him, he went 
to bed and slept peacefully. 7 ’ 1 

On Pasteur’s sixty-fourth birthday, he was presented 
with the Jean Reynard Prize for his conquest of rabies, 
another name for hydrophobia, and at the same time 
a subscription list was begun to establish the Pasteur 
Institute for the study of disease. Two years later, 
when contributions had come from all parts of the 
world, the institute was opened, and for seven more 
years Pasteur worked as its head. In 1895 he died, hav¬ 
ing “ shown the way to the physical redemption of man,” 
and his body now lies in a crypt at the base of the in¬ 
stitute, which is a fitting monument to his greatness. 

1 Vallery-Radot, Rene. The Life of Pasteur, translated by Mrs. 
R. L. Devonshire, pp. 416-417. Archibald Constable, London, 1906. 


MEMOIR ON THE ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES 
WHICH EXIST IN THE ATMOSPHERE 1 


AN EXAMINATION OF THE DOCTRINE OF SPONTANEOUS 
GENERATION 

by Louis Pasteur 
Chapter I. Historical 

I N ANCIENT times, and until tlie end of tlie middle 
ages, every one believed in tbe occurrence of sponta¬ 
neous generations. 2 Aristotle says tbat animals are en¬ 
gendered by all dry things tbat become moist and all 
moist things that become dry. 

Van Helmont describes the way to bring mice into 
existence. 

Even in the seventeenth century, many authors give 
methods for producing frogs from the mud of marshes, 
or eels from river water. 

Such errors could not survive for long the spirit of in¬ 
vestigation which arose in Europe in the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries. 

Redi, a celebrated member of the Academia del Pi¬ 
mento, demonstrated that the worms in putrefying flesh 
were larva? from the eggs of flies. His proofs were 
simple as they were decisive, for he showed that sur¬ 
rounding the putrefying flesh with fine gauze absolutely 
prevented the appearance of these larvae. . . . 

1 From Annales de Chemie et de Physique , 1862, Vol. LXIV, p. 5. 
2 Production of living matter from nonliving. 


64 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


But, in the second part of the seventeenth and the first 
part of the eighteenth centuries, microscopic observa¬ 
tions rapidly increased in number. The doctrine of 
spontaneous generation then reappeared. Some, unable 
to explain the origin of the varied organisms which the 
microscope showed in their infusions of animal or vege¬ 
table matters, and seeing nothing among them which re¬ 
sembled sexual reproduction, were obliged to assume 
that matter which has once lived keeps, after its death, 
a special vital force, under the influence of which its 
scattered particles unite themselves afresh under certain 
favorable conditions with varieties of structure deter¬ 
mined by these conditions. 

Others, on the contrary, used their imagination to ex¬ 
tend the marvelous revelations of the microscope and 
believed they saw males, females, and eggs among these 
infusoria, and they consequently set themselves up as 
open adversaries of spontaneous generation. 

One must recognize that the proofs in support of 
either of these opinions scarcely bore examination. . . . 
(Pasteur describes later experiments at length.) 

After the work of which I have spoken, the Academie 
des Sciences, realizing how much still remained to be 
found out, offered a prize for a dissertation on the fol¬ 
lowing subject: “ An endeavor, by accurate experi¬ 
ments, to throw light on the question of spontaneous 
generation.” 

The problem then appeared so obscure that M. Biot, 
whose kindness with regard to my work has always been 
unfailing, expressed his regret at seeing me engaged on 
these researches and claimed from me a promise to aban¬ 
don the subject after a limited time if I had not over¬ 
come the difficulties which were then perplexing me. 
M. Dumas, who has often conspired with M. Biot in 


ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES 


65 


kindness to me, said to me about the same time: “ I 
should not advise any one to spend too long over this 
subject.” 

What need had I to concern myself with it ? 

Chemists had discovered, twenty years earlier, a col¬ 
lection of extraordinary phenomena comprised under 
the generic term, “ fermentations.” 3 Two classes of 
substance are concerned in them all; one known as fer¬ 
mentable, such as sugar; the other nitrogenous, always 
an albumenlike substance. This was the theory which 
was universally accepted: Albuminous substances un¬ 
dergo a change on exposure to the air, a special oxida¬ 
tion of unknown nature, which gives them the character 
of a ferment, that is to say, the property of subsequently 
acting, by their contact, on fermentable substances. 

There was certainly one ferment, the oldest and most 
remarkable of all, which was known to be a living or¬ 
ganism: brewer’s yeast. But in all fermentations dis¬ 
covered more recently than the organic nature of yeast 
(1836), the existence of living organisms had not been 
recognized even after careful examination. Physiologists 
had therefore gradually abandoned, though with regret, 
M. Cagniard de Latour’s hypothesis of a probable rela¬ 
tion between the living nature of yeast and its property 


3 We now know that there are two types of fermentation, one 
brought about by living, one-celled plants or animals, the other by 
nonliving or unorganized substances called “enzymes.” All living 
things require oxygen for growth, and certain one-celled organisms, 
yeast among them, instead of taking this oxygen from the air as we 
do, can take it from concentrated solutions of sugar, if they happen 
to drop into such a solution from the air, or are put into it by man. 
The yeast cell attacks the sugar, taking from it some of its oxygen 
and setting free carbon dioxide, a gas which then escapes by bubbling 
up through the liquid. What remains of the sugar is an alcohol. 
The solution, instead of being sweet, is now rather stinging to the 
palate, and bubbly and sparkling with the escaping gas. We say 
that it has “fermented.” 


66 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


of being a ferment. The general theory was applied 
to yeast in such terms as these: “ Yeast is not active be¬ 
cause it is an organism, but because it has been in con¬ 
tact with the air. It is the dead yeast cells, those which 
have lived and are in the process of decay, which act 
upon the sugar.” 

My studies led me to entirely different conclusions. 
I found that all fermentations properly so called were 
always connected with the presence and multiplication 
of living organisms. Ear from the living nature of yeast 
being an obstacle to the theory of fermentation it was 
that very fact which made it also subject to the common 
law and established it as the type of all true ferments. 
My conclusion was that albuminous substances are never 
ferments, but the food of ferments. The ferments are 
living organisms. 

Accepting this, it was said that ferments originated 
from the contact of albuminous substances with oxygen 
gas. One of two things must be true, I said to myself: 
Eerments are organized; if they are produced by oxygen 
alone, considered merely as oxygen, they are sponta¬ 
neously generated; if they are not of spontaneous origin, 
it is not as oxygen alone that this gas intervenes on their 
formation, but as a stimulant to germs entering with 
it, or existing in the nitrogenous or fermentable matters. 
At this point in my study of fermentations, I had thus 
to form an opinion on the question of spontaneous gener¬ 
ation. I might perhaps find therein a powerful weapon 
in aid of my ideas on true fermentations. 

The researches which I am about to describe were 
consequently a necessary digression from my work on 
fermentations. . . . 


ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES 


67 


Chapter II. The Microscopic Examination of the 
Solid Particles Found in the Atmosphere 

My first care was to find a method which should per¬ 
mit of collecting the solid particles that float in the air 
and of studying them under the miseroscope. It was 
first necessary to remove if possible the objections held 
by the partisans of spontaneous generation against the 
ancient hypothesis of the aerial dissemination of 
germs. . . . 

The method which I have used to collect and examine 
the dusts suspended in the air is very simple; it consists 
in filtering a known volume of air through gun cot¬ 
ton, which is soluble in a mixture of alcohol and ether. 
The solid particles collect on the fibers of the cotton. 
The cotton is then treated with its solvent, and after a 
time all the solid particles fall to the bottom of the 
liquid; they are washed several times and transferred to 
the stage of the microscope, where they are easily ex¬ 
amined. . . . 

These simple manipulations allow one to observe that 
ordinary air always contains a variable number of cor¬ 
puscles 4 whose form and structure show them to be of 
organic nature. In size they vary from the smallest 
diameters up to 1/100 to 1.5/100 of a millimeter, or 
more. Some are perfectly spherical, others oval. Their 
outlines are more or less sharply defined. Some are 
quite transparent, but others have a granular substance 
and are opaque. Those which are transparent with 
clearly defined outlines are so much like the spores of 
common molds that the cleverest microscopist could not 
distinguish between them. That is all that one can say, 
just as one can only affirm that among the others there 
4 Small bodies. 


68 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


are some which resemble encysted 5 infusoria or the 
globules which are regarded as the eggs of these minute 
creatures. . . . 

I found that a little wad of cotton, thus exposed for 
twenty-four hours in the summer after a spell of fine 
weather to a current of one liter of air a minute from 
the Hue d’Ulm, collects several thousands of organized 
corpuscles. The number varies indefinitely with the 
state of the atmosphere — before or after rain, in still 
or windy weather, by day or by night, near the ground 
or at some distance from it. . . . 


Chapter III. Experiments with Calcined Air 

As we have just seen, organized corpuscles are al¬ 
ways to he found suspended in the air; these cannot he 
distinguished from the germs of inferior organisms by 
their shape, size, or apparent structure, and are present 
in numbers that, without exaggeration, are indeed great. 
Do fertile germs really exist among them? Obviously 
this was the interesting question; I believe I have found 
a definite answer. But before describing the experi¬ 
ments which hear more particularly on this side of the 
subject, it is necessary to consider whether Dr. 
Schwann’s observations on the inactivity of air which 
has been heated are well established. . . . 

Into a flask of 250 to 300 cubic centimeters capacity 
I introduce 100 to 150 centimeters of a fluid of the 
following composition : 


water. 100 

sugar. 10 

albuminous and mineral matters 

from brewer’s yeast. 0.2 to 0.7 


6 Inclosed in a membrane. 





ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES 


The drawn-out neck of the flask communicates with a 
tube of platinum kept at red heat. The liquid is boiled 
for two or three minutes and then allowed to cool. The 
flask fills slowly with ordinary air at atmospheric 
pressure, all of which has been heated; the neck of the 
flask is then closed in the flame. 

The flask thus prepared is put in an incubator at a 
constant temperature of about 30; the liquid keeps in¬ 
definitely without the slightest alteration. Its lim¬ 
pidity, its odor, its feebly acid reaction, shows no ap¬ 
preciable change. Its color deepens slowly with time, 
doubtless under the influence of a direct oxidation of 
the albumen or sugar. 

I affirm with the utmost sincerity that I have never 
had a doubtful result from a single experiment of this 
kind. Sugared yeast water, boiled for two or three 
minutes and then exposed to air which has been heated, 
never alters at all, even after eighteen months, at a tem¬ 
perature of 25 to 30, while, if one abandons it to ordi¬ 
nary air, after a day or two it is seen to be in the course 
of a manifest change and becomes full of bacteria and 
vibrios, 6 or covered with molds. 

Dr. Schwann’s observation is thus fully confirmed 
when applied to sugared yeast water. . . . 

Chapter IV. Sowing of Dusts from Air into Liquids 
Suitable for the Development of Inferior 
Organisms 

The results of the experiments of the two preceding 
chapters have taught us : 

(1) That in suspension in ordinary air there are always 
organized corpuscles which closely resemble the germs of 
inferior organisms; 

6 Minute creatures which move rapidly to and fro. 


70 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


(2) That sugared yeast water, though eminently alter¬ 
able when exposed to ordinary air, remains unaltered, 
limpid, without producing infusoria or molds, when left 
in contact with air which has been previously heated. 

This admitted, let us endeavor to find out what will 
happen if into this albumen-containing sugar solution 
are sown t'he dusts of which the collection is described 
in Chapter II, without introducing anything else but 
the dusts, and only air that has been heated. . . . 

I adopted the following procedure to introduce dusts 
from air into putrefiable or fermentable liquids, in pres¬ 
ence of heated air. 

Let us take again our flask containing sugared yeast 
water and air that has been heated. I will suppose that 
the flask has been in the incubator at 25 or 30 for one 
or two months, without having shown a noticeable alter¬ 
ation — a manifest proof of the inactivity of the 
heated air with which it was filled under ordinary at¬ 
mospheric pressure. The neck of the flask remaining 
closed, it is joined by means of £ rubber tube to an ap¬ 
paratus arranged as shown in the figure: T is a tube of 
hard glass, of 10-12 millimeters interior diameter, in 
which I have placed a scrap of glass tubing a of narrow 
diameter, open at the ends, free to move in the large tube, 
and containing a portion of one of the little wads of 
cotton loaded with dust: R is a brass tube of T-shape 
fitted with taps, of which one communicates with the air- 
pump, another with a platinum tube at red heat, the 
third with the tube T; cc represents the rubber which 
joins the flask B to the tube T. 

When all the parts of the apparatus are arranged and 
when the platinum tube has been brought to red heat 
by the gas burner shown at G, the tap which leads to the 
platinum tube is closed, and the wholo is evacuated by 


ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES 


71 


means of the pump. The tap is then opened so as to 
allow the calcined air to enter the apparatus slowly. 
The evacuation and the reentry of the calcined air 7 are 
repeated alternately ten or twelve times. The little 
tube containing the cotton is thus filled even to the 
smallest interstices of the cotton with air that has been 
heated, but the dusts remain in it. The tip of the flask 
B is then broken off through the rubber without un¬ 



doing the fastenings, and the little tube with the dusts 
is made to slide into the flask. Finally, the neck of the 
flask is closed in the flame and it is replaced in the in¬ 
cubator. Now, it always happens that growths begin 
to appear after twenty-four, thirty-six, or forty-eight 
hours at most. v 

This is precisely the time necessary for these same 
growths to appear in sugared yeast water when it is ex¬ 
posed to ordinary air. 

7 Heated to a high temperature; turns to ash. 



















































72 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Here are tlie details of (one) experiment: 

Early in November, 1859, I prepared several flasks 
of 250 centimeters capacity, containing 100 centimeters 
of sugared yeast water and 150 centimeters of heated 
air. They remained in the incubator at the temperature 
of about 30 till the eighth of January, 1860. On that 
day, about 9 a.m., I introduced into one of the flasks, 
with the help of the apparatus (described), a portion 
of a wad of cotton loaded with dusts, collected as I de¬ 
scribed in Chapter II. 

On the ninth of January, at 9 a.m., nothing particular 
could be seen in the liquid in the flask. On the same day 
at 6 p.m., one could see very distinctly little tufts of 
mold growing out from the tube with the dusts. The 
liquid was perfectly clear. 

On the tenth of January at 5 p.m., besides the silky 
tufts of the mold, I saw on the walls of the flask a large 
number of white streaks which looked iridescent 8 on 
holding the flask between the eye and light. 

On the eleventh of January, the liquid had lost its 
clearness. It was all turbid, to such an extent that one 
could no longer see the tufts of mold. 

I then opened the flask by a scratch of the file and 
studied under the microscope the different growths 
which had appeared. 

The turbidity of the liquid was due to a crowd of lit¬ 
tle bacteria of the smallest dimensions, very rapid in 
their movements, spinning sharply or swaying to and 
fro, etc. 

The silky tufts were formed by a mycelium 9 of 
branching tubes. 

Finally, the precipitate which showed itself on the 

8 Showing colors of the rainbow. 

9 While fibrous material from which fungi develop. 


ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES 


73 


tenth of January in the form of white streaks was com¬ 
posed of a very delicate torula 10 . . . resembling brew¬ 
er’s yeast, but with smaller cells. . . . 

Here then were three growths derived from the dusts 
which had been added, growths of the same kind as those 
which appear in similar sugared albuminous liquids 
when they are abandoned to the contact of ordinary 
air. . . . 

I could multiply many times such examples of growths 
in sugared yeast water following on the addition of 
dusts from air, in an atmosphere of air previously heated 
and of itself quite inactive. I have chosen for descrip¬ 
tion an experiment which showed very common organ¬ 
isms which occur frequently in such liquids as those 
which I employed. But the most diverse organisms 
may appear. . . . 

One might perhaps wonder if, in the preceding ex¬ 
periments, the cotton, as an organic substance, had some 
influence on the results. It would above all he useful to 
know what would happen if similar manipulations were 
carried out on flasks prepared as described, without the 
atmospheric dusts. In other words, has the method of 
introducing the dusts any influence of its own? It is 
indispensable to know this. 

In order to answer these questions, I replaced the 
cotton by asbestos. Little wads of asbestos, through 
which a current of air had been passed for several hours, 
were introduced into the flasks according to the pre¬ 
ceding instructions, and they gave results of exactly 
the same kind as those we have just quoted. But with 
wads of asbestos previously calcined, and not filled with 
dust, or filled with dust but heated afterwards, no tur¬ 
bidity, nor infusoria, nor plants of any kind were ever 
10 Chain of spherical bacteria. 


74 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


produced. The liquids remained perfectly clear. I 
have repeated these comparative experiments very many 
times, and I have always been surprised by their dis¬ 
tinctness, by their perfect constancy. It would seem, in¬ 
deed, that experiments of this delicacy should sometimes 
show contradictory results due to accidental causes of 
error. But never once did any of my blank experiments 
show any growths, just as the sowing of dusts has al¬ 
ways furnished living organisms. 

In face of such results, confirmed and enlarged by 
those of the following chapters, I regard this as mathe¬ 
matically demonstrated: all organisms which appear in 
sugared albuminous solutions boiled and then exposed 
to ordinary air derive their origin from the solid par¬ 
ticles whch are suspended in the atmosphere. 

But on the other hand, we have seen in Chapter II 
that these solid particles include, amid a multitude of 
amorphous fragments, carbonate of lime, silica, soot, 
bits of wool, etc., organized corpuscles which are so like 
as to be indistinguishable from the little spores of the 
growths whose formation we have recognized in this 
liquid. These corpuscles are then the fertile germs of 
the growths. 

We may conclude, moreover, that if an albuminous 
solution of sugar in contact with air which has been 
heated does not alter, as Dr. Schwann first observed, it 
is because the heat destroyed the germs which the air 
was carrying. All the adversaries of spontaneous gener¬ 
ation had foreseen this. I have done nothing but supply 
sure and decisive proofs, obliging nonprejudiced minds 
to reject all idea of the existence in the atmosphere of a 
more or less mysterious principle, gas, fluid, ozone, etc., 
having the property of arousing life in infusions. 11 

11 Extraction of soluble properties by steeping in a liquid. 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 1 

by Alfred Russel Wallace 

Alfred Russel Wallace was a great naturalist, but since he 
lived at the time of Darwin, his career was somewhat over¬ 
shadowed by that greater scientist. He was born at Usk, Mon¬ 
mouthshire, England, January 8, 1823. He went to school only 
until he was thirteen years old, then left to study surveying. 
While following this profession, the youth constructed a rude 
telescope and took great interest in astronomy, but his chief 
delight was to wander over the moors by himself investigating 
the plants and animals he found there and writing down his 
ideas and observations. During the seven years that he worked 
for his brother at surveying, he “ hardly ever had more than 
a few shillings for personal expenses.” A turning point in his 
life occurred when he went to London at the age of twenty-one 
and, having difficulty obtaining employment, decided to make 
a journey to the “ almost unknown forests of the Amazon” to 
make a living by collecting. After this four-year journey and 
an interval of two years in England, he set out again for the 
unknown, spending eight years in the Malay Archipelago. His 
researches there led him to conclusions which resulted in his 
formulating his theory of the origin of species, which coincided 
exactly with Darwin’s theory, thought out twenty years before. 
Wallace’s two greatest works, The Geographical Distribution 
of Animals, 1876, and Island Life, in 1881, laid the foundation 
for the science of zoogeography. He died in 1913. 

T HE majority of persons, if asked wbat were the 
uses of dust, would reply that they did not know 
it had any, hut they were sure it was a great nuisance. 
It is true that dust in our towns and in our houses is 

The Wonderful Century , Chap. IX. Dodd, Mead, 1898. 


76 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


often not only a nuisance but a serious source of dis¬ 
ease, while in many countries it produces ophthalmia, 
often resulting in total blindness. Dust, however, as it is 
usually perceived by ps, is, like dirt, only matter in the 
wrong place, and whatever injurious or disagreeable 
effects it produces are largely due to our own dealings 
with nature. So soon as we dispense with horse power 
and adopt purely mechanical means of traction and con¬ 
veyance, we can almost wholly abolish disease-bearing 
dust from our streets and ultimately from all our high¬ 
ways, while another kind of dust, that caused by the im¬ 
perfect combustion of coal, may be got rid of with equal 
facility so soon as we consider pure air, sunlight, and 
natural beauty to be of more importance to the popu¬ 
lation as a whole than are the prejudices or the vested 
interests of those who produce the smoke. 

But though we can thus minimize the dangers and the 
inconveniences arising from the grosser forms of dust, 
we cannot wholly abolish it; and it is indeed fortunate 
we cannot do so, since it has now been discovered that 
it is to the presence of dust we owe much of the beauty 
and perhaps even the very habitability of the earth we 
live upon. Few of the fairy tales of science are more 
marvelous than these recent discoveries as to the varied 
effects and important uses of dust in the economy of 
nature. 

The question why the sky and the deep ocean are 
both blue did not much concern the early physicists. 
It was thought to be the natural color of pure air and 
water, so pale as not to be visible when small quantities 
were seen, and only exhibiting its true tint when we 
looked through depths of atmosphere or of organic 
water. But this theory did not explain the familiar 
facts of the gorgeous tints seen at sunset and sunrise, 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 


77 


not only in the atmosphere and on the clouds near the 
horizon, but also in equally resplendent hues when the 
invisible sun shines upon Alpine peaks and snow fields. 
A true theory should explain all these colors, which 
comprise almost every tint of the rainbow. 

The explanation was found through experiments on 
the visibility or nonvisibility of air, which were made 
by the late Professor Tyndall about the year 1868. 
Every one has seen the floating dust in a sunbeam when 
sunshine enters a partially darkened room; hut it is 
not generally known that if there was absolutely no dust 
in the air the path of the sunbeam would be totally black 
and invisible, while if only very little dust was present 
in very minute particles, the air would be as blue as a 
summer sky. 

This was proved by passing a ray of electric light 
lengthways through a long glass cylinder filled with air 
of varying degrees of purity as regards dust. In the air 
of an ordinary room, however clean and well ventilated, 
the interior of the cylinder appears brilliantly illumi¬ 
nated. But if the cylinder is exhausted and then filled 
with air which has passed slowly through a fine gauze 
of intensely heated platinum wire, so as to burn up all 
the floating dust particles, which are mainly organic, the 
light will pass through the cylinder without illuminating 
the interior, which, viewed laterally, will appear as if 
filled with a dense black cloud. If, now, more air is 
passed into the cylinder through the heated gauze, hut 
so rapidly that the dust particles are not wholly con¬ 
sumed, a slight blue haze will begin to appear, which 
will gradually become a pure blue, equal to that of a 
summer sky. If more and more dust particles are al¬ 
lowed to enter, the blue becomes paler and gradually 
changes to the colorless illumination of the ordinary air. 


78 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


The explanation of these phenomena is that the num¬ 
ber of dust particles in ordinary air is so great that 
they reflect abundance of light of all wave lengths and 
thus cause the interior of the vessel containing them to 
appear illuminated with white light. The air which 
has passed slowly over white-hot platinum has had the 
dust particles destroyed, thus showing that they were 
almost wholly of organic origin, which is also indicated 
by their extreme lightness, causing them to float per¬ 
manently in the atmosphere. The dust being thus got 
rid of, and pure air being entirely transparent, there is 
nothing in the cylinder to reflect the light which is sent 
through its center in a beam of parallel rays, so that 
none of it strikes against the sides; hence the inside of 
the cylinder appears absolutely dark. But when all the 
larger dust particles are wholly or partially burnt, so 
that only the very smallest fragments remain, a blue 
light appears, because these are so minute as to reflect 
chiefly the more refrangible rays, which are of shorter 
wave length — those at the blue end of the spectrum, 
which are thus scattered in all directions, while the red 
and yellow rays pass straight on as before. 

We have seen that the air near the earth’s surface is 
full of rather coarse particles which reflect all the rays 
and which therefore produce no one color. But higher 
up the particles necessarily become smaller and smaller, 
since the comparatively rare atmosphere will only sup¬ 
port the very smallest and lightest. These exist through¬ 
out a great thickness of air, perhaps from one mile to ten 
miles high or even more, and blue or violet rays being re¬ 
flected from the innumerable particles in this great 
mass of air, which is nearly uniform in all parts of the 
world as regards the presence of minute dust particles, 
produces the constant and nearly uniform tint we call 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 


79 


sky-blue. A certain amount of white or yellow light 
is no doubt reflected from the coarser dust in the lower 
atmosphere and slightly dilutes the blue and renders it 
not quite so deep and pure as it otherwise would be. 
This is shown by the increasing depth of the sky color 
when seen from the tops of lofty mountains, while from 
the still greater heights attained in balloons the sky ap¬ 
pears of a blue-black color, the blue reflected from the 
comparatively small amount of dust particles being seen 
against the intense black of stellar space. It is for the 
same reason that the “ Italian skies ” are of so rich a 
blue, because the Mediterranean Sea on one side and the 
snowy Alps on the other do not furnish so large a quan¬ 
tity of atmospheric dust in the lower strata of air as in 
less favorably situated countries, thus leaving the blue 
reflected by the more uniformly distributed fine dust of 
the higher strata undiluted. But these Mediterranean 
skies are surpassed by those of the central Pacific Ocean, 
where, owing to the small area of land, the lower at¬ 
mosphere is more free from coarse dust than any other 
part of the world. 

If we look at the sky on a perfectly fine summer’s 
day, we shall find that the blue color is the most pure 
and intense overhead, and when looking high up in a 
direction opposite to the sun. Hear the horizon it is 
always less bright, while in the region immediately 
around the sun it is more or less yellow. The reason of 
this is that near the horizon we look through a very 
great thickness of the lower atmosphere, which is full of 
the larger dust particles reflecting white light, and this 
dilutes the pure blue of the higher atmosphere seen be¬ 
yond. And in the vicinity of the sun a good deal of the 
blue light is reflected back into space by the finer dust, 
thus giving a yellowish tinge to that which reaches us 


80 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


reflected chiefly from the coarse dust of the lower at¬ 
mosphere. At sunset and sunrise, however, this last ef¬ 
fect is greatly intensified, owing to the great thickness 
of the strata of air through which the light reaches us. 
The enormous amount of this dust is well shown by the 
fact that then only we can look full at the sun, even when 
the whole sky is free from clouds and there is no ap¬ 
parent mist. But the sun’s rays then reach us after hav¬ 
ing passed, first, through an enormous thickness of the 
higher strata of the air, the minute dust of which re¬ 
flects most of the blue rays away from us, leaving the 
complementary yellow light to pass on. Then, the some¬ 
what coarser dust reflects the green rays, leaving a more 
orange-colored light to pass on; and finally some of the 
yellow is reflected, leaving almost pure red. But owing 
to the constant presence of air currents, arranging both 
the dust and vapor in strata of varying extent and 
density, and of high or low clouds, which both absorb 
and reflect the light in varying degrees, we see produced 
all those wondrous combinations of tints and those 
gorgeous ever-changing colors which are a constant 
source of admiration and delight to all who have the ad¬ 
vantage of an uninterrupted view to the west and who 
are accustomed to watch for those not infrequent ex¬ 
hibitions of nature’s kaleidoscopic color painting. With 
every change in the altitude of the sun the display 
changes its character; and most of all when it has sunk 
below the horizon, and owing to the more favorable an¬ 
gles a larger quantity of the colored light is reflected 
toward us. Especially when there is a certain amount 
of cloud is this the case. These, so long as the sun was 
above the horizon, intercepted much of the light and 
color; hut when the great luminary has passed away 
from our direct vision, his light shines more directly 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 


81 


on the under sides of all the clouds and air strata of dif¬ 
ferent densities; a new and more brilliant light flushes 
the western sky, and a display of gorgeous ever- 
changing tints occurs which are at once the delight of 
the beholder and the despair of the artist. And all this 
unsurpassable glory we owe to — dust! 

A remarkable confirmation of this theory was given 
during the two or three years after the great eruption 
of Krakatoa, near Java. The volcanic debris was shot 
up from the crater many miles high, and the heavier 
portion of it fell upon the sea for several hundred miles 
around, and was found to be mainly composed of very 
thin flakes of volcanic glass. Much of this was, of 
course, ground to impalpable dust by the violence of the 
discharge and was carried up to a height of many miles. 
Here it was caught by the return current of air con¬ 
tinuously flowing northward and southward above the 
equatorial zone; and as these currents reached the tem¬ 
perate zone where the surface rotation of the earth is 
less rapid they continually flowed eastward, and the fine 
dust was thus carried at a great altitude completely 
round the earth. Its effects were traced some months 
after the eruption in the appearance of brilliant sunset 
glows of an exceptional character, often flushing with 
crimson the whole western half of the visible sky. These 
glows continued in diminishing splendor for about 
three years; they were seen all over the temperate zone; 
and it was calculated that, before they finally disap¬ 
peared, some of this fine dust must have traveled three 
times round the globe. 

The same principle is thought to explain the exquisite 
blue color of the deep seas and oceans and of many 
lakes and springs. Absolutely pure water, like pure 
air, is colorless, hut all seas and lakes, however clear 


82 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


and translucent, contain abundance of very finely di¬ 
vided matter, organic 2 or inorganic, wbicb, as in tbe at¬ 
mosphere, reflects tbe blue rays in such quantity as to 
overpower tbe white or colored light reflected from the 
fewer and more rapidly sinking particles of larger size. 
The oceanic dust is derived from many sources. Mi¬ 
nute organisms are constantly dying near the surface, 
and their skeletons, or fragments of them, fall slowly 
to the bottom. The mud brought down by rivers, though 
it cannot be traced on the ocean floor more than about 
one hundred and fifty miles from land, yet no doubt 
furnishes many particles of organic matter which are 
carried by surface currents to enormous distances and 
are ultimately dissolved before they reach the bottom. 
A more important source of finely divided matter is to 
be found in volcanic dust which, as in the case of Kra- 
katoa, may remain for years in the atmosphere, hut 
which must ultimately fall upon the surface of the 
earth and ocean. This can be traced in all deep-sea 
oozes. Einally there is meteoric dust, which is con¬ 
tinually falling to the surface of the earth, but in such 
minute quantities and in such a finely divided state 
that it can only he detected in the oozes of the deepest 
oceans, where both inorganic and organic debris is al¬ 
most absent. 

The blue of the ocean varies in different parts from 
a pure blue somewhat lighter than that of the sky, as 
seen about the northern tropic in the Atlantic, to a deep 
indigo tint, as seen in the north temperate portions of 
the same ocean; due, probably, to differences in the na¬ 
ture, quantity, and distribution of the solid matter which 
causes the color. The Mediterranean and the deeper 
Swiss lakes are also blue of various tints, due also to the 
2 Matter of plant or animal origin. 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 


83 


presence of suspended matter which. Professor Tyndall 
thought might be so fine that it would require ages of 
quiet subsidence 3 to reach the bottom. All the evidence 
goes to show, therefore, that the exquisite blue tints of 
sky and ocean, as well as all the sunset hues of sky and 
cloud, of mountain peak and alpine snows, are due to 
the finer particles of that dust which, in its coarser 
forms, we find so annoying and even dangerous. 

But if this production of color and beauty were the 
only useful function of dust, some persons might be dis¬ 
posed to dispense with it in order to escape its less agree¬ 
able effects. It has, however, been recently discovered 
that dust has another part to play in nature; a part so 
important that it is doubtful whether we could even 
live without it. To the presence of dust in the higher 
atmosphere we owe the formation of mists, clouds, and 
gentle beneficial rains, instead of waterspouts and de¬ 
structive torrents. 

It is barely twenty years ago since the discovery was 
made, first in France by Coulier and Mascart, but more 
thoroughly worked out by Mr. John Aitken in 1880. 
He found that, if a jet of steam is admitted into two 
large glass receivers — one filled with ordinary air, the 
other with air which has been filtered through cotton 
wool so as to keep back all particles of solid matter, — 
the first will be instantly filled with condensed vapor 
in the usual cloudy form, while the other vessel will re¬ 
main quite transparent. Another experiment was made 
more nearly reproducing what occurs in nature. Some 
water was placed in the two vessels prepared as be¬ 
fore. When the water had evaporated sufficiently to 
saturate the air, the vessels were slightly cooled, when 
a dense cloud was at once formed in the one while the 
3 Sinking in level. 


84 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


other remained quite clear. These experiments, and 
many others, showed that the mere cooling of vapor in 
air will not condense it into mist clouds or rain, un¬ 
less particles of solid matter are present to form nuclei 
upon which condensation can begin. The density of the 
cloud is proportionate to the number of the particles; 
hence the fact that the steam issuing from the safety 
valve or the chimney of a locomotive forms a dense white 
cloud shows that the air is really full of dust particles, 
most of which are microscopic but none the less serving 
as centers of condensation for the vapor. Hence, if 
there were no dust in the air, escaping steam would re¬ 
main invisible; there would be no clouds in the sky; 
and the vapor in the atmosphere constantly accumu¬ 
lating through evaporation from seas and oceans and 
from the earth’s surface, would have to find some other 
means of returning to its source. 

One of these modes would be the deposition of dew, 
which is itself an illustration of the principle that vapor 
requires solid or liquid surfaces to condense upon; hence 
dew forms more readily and more abundantly on grass, 
on account of the numerous centers of condensation it 
affords. Dew, however, is now formed only on clear 
cold nights after warm or moist days. The air near 
the surface is warm and contains much vapor, though 
below the point of saturation. But the innumerable 
points and extensive surfaces of grass radiate heat 
quickly and, becoming cool, lower the temperature of 
the adjacent air, which then reaches saturation point 
and condenses the contained vapor on the grass. Hence, 
if the atmosphere at the earth’s surface became super¬ 
saturated with aqueous vapor, dew would he continu¬ 
ously deposited, especially on every form of vegetation, 
the result being that everything, including our clothing, 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 


85 


would be constantly dripping wet. If there were abso¬ 
lutely no particles of solid matter in tbe upper atmos¬ 
phere, all the moisture would be returned to the earth in 
the form of dense mists and frequent and copious dews, 
which in forests would form torrents of rain by the rapid 
condensation on the leaves. But if we suppose that 
solid particles were occasionally carried higher up 
through violent winds or tornadoes, then on those oc¬ 
casions the supersaturated atmosphere would condense 
rapidly upon them and while falling would gather al¬ 
most all the moisture in the atmosphere in that locality, 
resulting in masses or sheets of water, which would be 
so ruinously destructive by the mere weight and impetus 
of their fall that it is doubtful whether they would not 
render the earth almost wholly uninhabitable. 

The chief mode of discharging the atmospheric vapor 
in the absence of dust would, however, be by contact 
with the higher slopes of all mountain ranges. At¬ 
mospheric vapor, being lighter than air, would accumu¬ 
late in enormous quantities in the upper strata of the 
atmosphere, which would be always supersaturated and 
ready to condense upon any solid or liquid surface. 
But the quantity of land comprised in the upper half 
of all the mountains of the world is a very small frac¬ 
tion of the total surface of the globe, and this would 
lead to very disastrous results. The air in contact with 
the higher mountain slopes would rapidly discharge its 
water, which would run down the mountain sides in tor¬ 
rents. This condensation on every side of the moun¬ 
tains would leave a partial vacuum which would set 
up currents from every direction to restore the equilib¬ 
rium, thus bringing in more supersaturated air to suf¬ 
fer condensation and add its supply of water, again 
increasing the in-draught of more air. The result would 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


be that winds would be constantly blowing toward 
every mountain range from all directions, keeping up 
the condensation and discharging, day and night and 
from one year’s end to another, an amount of water 
equal to that which falls during the heaviest tropical 
rains. The whole of the rain that now falls over the 
whole surface of the earth and ocean, with the excep¬ 
tion of a few desert areas, would then fall only on 
rather high mountains or steep isolated hills, tearing 
down their sides in huge torrents, cutting deep ravines, 
and rendering all growth of vegetation impossible. The 
mountains would therefore be so devastated as to be un¬ 
inhabitable, and would be equally incapable of support¬ 
ing either vegetable or animal life. 

But this constant condensation on the mountains 
would probably check the deposit on the lowlands in the 
form of dew, because the continual up-draught toward 
the higher slopes would withdraw almost the whole of 
the vapor as it rose from the oceans and other water 
surfaces, and thus leave the lower strata over the 
plains almost or quite dry. And if this were the case 
there would be no vegetation, and therefore no animal 
life, on the plains and lowlands, which would thus be 
all arid deserts cut through by the great rivers formed 
by the meeting together of the innumerable torrents from 
the mountains. 

Now although it may not be possible to determine 
with perfect accuracy what would happen under the 
supposed condition of the atmosphere, it is certain that 
the total absence of dust would so fundamentally change 
the meteorology of our globe as not improbably to ren¬ 
der it uninhabitable by man and equally unsuitable for 
the larger portion of its existing animal and vegetable 
life. 


THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 


87 


Let us now briefly summarize what we owe to the uni¬ 
versality of dust and especially to that most finely di¬ 
vided portion of it which is constantly present in the 
atmosphere up to the height of many miles. First of all 
it gives us the pure blue of the sky, one of the most ex¬ 
quisitely beautiful colors of nature. It gives us also 
the glories of the sunset and the sunrise, and all those 
brilliant hues seen in high mountain regions. Half the 
beauty of the world would vanish with the absence of 
dust. But what is far more important than the color 
of the sky and beauty of sunset, dust gives us also dif¬ 
fused daylight, or skylight, that most equable and sooth¬ 
ing and useful of all illuminating agencies. Without 
dust the sky would appear absolutely black, and the stars 
would be visible even at noonday. The sky itself would 
therefore give us no light. We should have bright glar¬ 
ing sunlight or intensely dark shadows, with hardly any 
halftones. From this cause alone the world would be 
so totally different from what it is that all vegetable and 
animal life would probably have developed into very 
different forms, and even our own organization would 
have been modified in order that we might enjoy life in 
a world of such harsh and violent contrasts. 

In our houses we should have little light except when 
the sun shone directly into them, and even then every 
spot out of its direct rays would be completely dark, ex¬ 
cept for light reflected from the walls. It would be 
necessary to have windows all round and the walls all 
white; and on the north side of every house a high 
white wall would have to be built to reflect the light 
and prevent that side from being in total darkness. 
Even then we should have to live in a perpetual glare, or 
shut out the sun altogether and use artificial light as 
being a far superior article. 


88 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Much more important would be the effects of a dust- 
free atmosphere in banishing clouds, or mist, or the 
“ gentle rain from heaven,” and in giving us in their 
place perpetual sunshine, desert lowlands, and moun¬ 
tains devastated by unceasing floods and raging tor¬ 
rents, so as, apparently, to render all life on the earth 
impossible. 


THE ENERGIES OE MEN 1 


by William James 

Psychology, the study of the nature of the human mind, 
has lagged far behind the other branches of science, and it is 
only within the last generation that accurate measurement 
and experimentation have been applied to psychological re¬ 
search. It was William James who, with his crystal-clear 
power of reasoning, his keenness and originality of thought, 
made psychology a natural science. Huxley once said, “ There 
is no more difference, but there is just the same kind of differ¬ 
ence, between the mental operations of a man of science and 
those of an ordinary person as there is between the operations 
and methods of a baker or of a butcher weighing out his goods 
in common scales and the operations of a chemist in perform¬ 
ing a difficult and complex analysis by means of his balance 
and finely graduated scales. It is not that the action of the 
scales in the one case and the balance in the other differ in 
the principles of their construction or manner of working; but 
the beam of one is set on an infinitely finer axis than the other, 
and of course turns by the addition of a much smaller weight.” 
In the article which follows we see the mind of a man of science 
in operation. 

William James was bom in New York in 1842. He studied 
at the Lawrence School of Science where Agassiz taught; and 
in 1865 accompanied the latter on the Thayer Expedition to 
Brazil, where he stayed for more than a year. In 1872 he be¬ 
gan teaching at Harvard University, where he had been grad¬ 
uated in medicine two years previously, and the rest of his 
life he devoted to study and experiment as well as instruction. 
He will be remembered not only as a great psychologist but 
also as a leader in ethics and philosophy. He died in 1910. 

1 From Memories and Studies. Longmans, Green, 1911. 


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E VERY ONE knows what it is to start a piece of 
work, either intellectual or muscular, feeling stale 
— or oold, as an Adirondack guide once put it to me. 
And everybody knows what it is to u warm up ” to his 
job. The process of warming up gets particularly strik¬ 
ing in the phenomen known as “ second wind.” On usual 
occasions we make a practice of stopping an occupation 
as soon as we meet the first effective layer (so to call it) 
of fatigue. We have then walked, played, or worked 
“ enough,” so we desist. That amount of fatigue is an 
efficacious obstruction on this side of which our usual 
life is cast. But if an unusual necessity forces us to 
press onward, a surprising thing occurs. The fatigue 
gets worse up to a certain critical point, when gradually 
or suddenly it passes away, and we are fresher than 
before. We have evidently tapped a level of new energy, 
masked until then by the fatigue obstacle usually obeyed. 
There may be layer after layer of this experience. A 
third and a fourth “ wind ” may supervene. Mental ac¬ 
tivity shows the phenomenon as well as physical, and in 
exceptional cases we may find beyond the very extremity 
of fatigue distress, amounts of ease and power that we 
never dreamed ourselves to own — sources of strength 
habitually not taxed at all, because habitually we never 
push through the obstruction, never pass those early 
critical points. 

For many years I have mused on the phenomenon of 
second wind, trying to find a physiological theory. It is 
evident that our organism has stored-up reserves of 
energy that are ordinarily not called upon, but that 
may be called upon: deeper and deeper strata of com¬ 
bustible or explosible material, discontinuously ar¬ 
ranged, but ready for use by any one who probes so 
deep, and repairing themselves by rest as well as do 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


91 


the superficial strata. Most of us continue living un¬ 
necessarily near our surface. Our energy budget is like 
our nutritive budget. Physiologists say that a man 
is in “ nutritive equilibrium ” when day after day be 
neither gains nor loses weight. But the odd thing is 
that this condition may obtain on astonishingly different 
amounts of food. Take a man in nutritive equilibrium, 
and systematically increase or lessen his rations. In the 
first case he will begin to gain weight, in the second case 
to lose it. The change will be greatest on the first day, 
less on the second, still less on the third; and so on, till 
he has gained all that he will gain, or lost all that he 
will lose, on that altered diet. He is now in nutritive 
equilibrium again, but with a new weight; and this 
neither lessens nor increases because his various com¬ 
bustion processes have adjusted themselves to the 
changed dietary. He gets rid, in one way or another, 
of just so much nitrogen, carbon, hydrogen, etc., as he 
takes in per diem . 

Just so one can be in what I might call “ efficiency 
equilibrium,” neither gaining nor losing power when 
once the equilibrium is reached, on astonishingly dif¬ 
ferent quantities of work, no matter in what direction 
the work may he measured. It may be physical work, 
intellectual work, moral work, or spiritual work. 

Of course, there are limits: the trees don’t grow into 
the sky. But the plain fact remains that men the world 
over possess amounts of resource which only very ex¬ 
ceptional individuals push to their extremes of use. But 
the very same individual, pushing his energies to their 
extreme, may in a vast number of cases keep the pace 
up day after day and find no “ reaction ” of a bad sort, 
so long as decent hygienic conditions are preserved. 
His more rapid rate of energizing does not wreck him; 


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for the organism adapts itself and, as the rate of waste 
augments, augments correspondingly the rate of .repair. 

I say the rate and not the time of repair. The busiest 
man needs no more hours of rest than the idler. Some 
years ago, Professor Patrick of the Iowa State Uni¬ 
versity kept three young men awake for four days and 
nights. When his observations on them were finished, 
the subjects were permitted to sleep themselves out. 
All awoke from this long sleep completely refreshed, 
but the one who took longest to restore himself from 
his long vigil only slept one-third more time than was 
regular with him. 

If my reader will put together these two conceptions, 
first, that few men live at their maximum of energy and, 
second, that any one may be in vital equilibrium at very 
different rates of energizing, he will find, I think, that 
a very pretty practical problem of national economy, 
as well as of individual ethics, opens upon his view. In 
rough terms, we may say that a man who energizes be¬ 
low his normal maximum fails by just so much to profit 
by his chance at life and that a nation filled with such 
men is inferior to a nation run at higher pressure. The 
problem is, then, how can men he trained up to their 
most useful pitch of energy? And how can nations 
make such training most accessible to all their sons and 
daughters ? This, after all, is only the general problem 
of education, formulated in slightly different terms. 

“ Rough ” terms, I said just now, because the words 
“ energy ” and “ maximum ” may easily suggest only 
quantity to the reader’s mind, whereas in measuring 
the human energies of which I speak, qualities as well 
as quantities have to be taken into account. Every one 
feels that his total power rises when he passes to a higher 
qualitative level of life. 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


93 


Writing is higher than walking, thinking is higher 
than writing, deciding higher than thinking, deciding 
“ no ” higher than deciding “ yes ” — at least the man 
who passes from one of these activities to another will 
usually say that each later one involves a greater element 
of inner work than the earlier ones, even though the total 
heat given out or the foot-pounds expended by the or¬ 
ganism may he less. Just how to conceive this inner 
work physiologically is as yet impossible, but psycho¬ 
logically we all know what the word means. We need a 
particular spur or effort to start us upon the inner work; 
it tires us to sustain it; and when long sustained, we 
know how easily we lapse. When I speak of “ ener¬ 
gizing” and its rates and levels and sources, I mean 
therefore our inner as well as our outer work. 

Let no one think, then, that our problem of individual 
and national economy is solely that of the maximum 
of pounds raisable against gravity, the maximum of lo¬ 
comotion, or of agitation of any sort, that human beings 
can accomplish. That might signify little more than 
hurrying and jumping about in uncoordinated ways; 
whereas inner work, though it so often reenforces outer 
work, quite as often means its arrest. To relax, to say 
to ourselves (with the “ new thoughters ”) “ Peace ! be 
still! ” is sometimes a great achievement of inner work. 
When I speak of human energizing in general, the 
reader must therefore understand that sum total of ac¬ 
tivities, some outer and some inner, some muscular, 
some emotional, some moral, some spiritual, of whose 
waxing and waning in himself he is at all times so well 
aware. How to keep it at an appreciable maximum? 
How not to let the level lapse ? That is the great prob¬ 
lem. But the work of men and women is of innumerable 
kinds, each kind being, as we say, carried on by a par- 


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ticular faculty; so the great problem splits into two sub¬ 
problems, thus: 

(1) What are the limits of human faculty in various di¬ 
rections ? 

(2) By what diversity of means, in the differing types 
of human beings, may the faculties be stimulated to their 
best results? 

Bead in one way, these two questions sound both 
trivial and familiar; there is a sense in which we have 
all asked them ever since we were born. Yet as a me¬ 
thodical program of scientific inquiry, I doubt whether 
they have ever been seriously taken up. If answered 
fully, almost the whole of mental science and of the 
science of conduct would find a place under them. I 
propose, in what follows, to press them on the reader’s 
attention in an informal way. 

The first point to agree upon in this enterprise is that, 
as a rule, men habitually use only a small part of the 
powers which they actually possess and which they 
might use under appropriate conditions. 

Every one is familiar with the phenomenon of feel¬ 
ing more or less alive on different days. Every one 
knows on any given day that there are energies slumber¬ 
ing in him which the incitements of that day do not 
call forth, but which he might display if these were 
greater. Most of us feel as if a sort of cloud weighed 
upon us, keeping us below our highest notch of clear¬ 
ness in discernment, sureness in reasoning, or firmness in 
deciding. Compared with what we ought to he, we are 
only half awake. Our fires are damped, our drafts are 
checked. We are making use of only a small part of our 
possible mental and physical resources. In some per¬ 
sons this sense of being cut off from their rightful re¬ 
sources is extreme, and we then get the formidable 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


95 


neurasthenic and psychasthenic conditions, with life 
grown into one tissue of impossibilities, that so many 
medical books describe. 

Stating the thing broadly, the human individual thus 
lives usually far within his limits; he possesses powers 
of various sorts which he habitually fails to use. He 
energizes below his maximum, and he behaves below his 
optimum. In elementary faculty, in coordination, in 
power of inhibition and control, in every conceivable 
way, his life is contracted like the field of vision of an 
hysteric subject — hut with less excuse, for the poor 
hysteric is diseased, while in the rest of us it is only an 
inveterate habit — the habit of inferiority to our full 
self — that is had. 

Admit so much, then, and admit also that the charge 
of being inferior to their full self is far truer of some 
men than of others; then the practical question ensues: 
To what do the better men owe their escape; and, in the 
fluctuations which all men feel in their own degree of 
energizing, to what are the improvements due, when 
they occur? 

In general terms the answer is plain: 

Either some unusual stimulus fills them with emo¬ 
tional excitement or some unusual idea of necessity in¬ 
duces them to make an effort of will. Excitements, 
ideas, and efforts, in a word, are what carry us over 
the dam. 

In those 11 hyperesthetic 99 conditions which chronic 
invalidism so often brings in its train, the dam has 
changed its normal place. The slight functional exer¬ 
cise gives a distress which the patient yields to and 
stops. In such cases of “ habit neurosis ” a new range 
of power often comes in consequence of the “ bullying 
treatment,” of efforts which the doctor obliges the pa- 


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tient, much against his will, to make. First comes the 
very extremity of distress; then follows unexpected 
relief. There seems no doubt that we are each and all 
of us to some extent victims of habit neurosis. We 
have to admit the wider potential range and the habitu¬ 
ally narrow actual use. We live subject to arrest by 
degrees of fatigue which we have come only from habit 
to obey. Most of us may learn to push the barrier far¬ 
ther off and to live in perfect comfort on much higher 
levels of power. 

Country people and city people, as a class, illustrate 
this difference. The rapid rate of life, the number of 
decisions in an hour, the many things to keep account 
of, in a busy city man’s or woman’s life, seem mon¬ 
strous to a country brother. He doesn’t see how we 
live at all. A day in Hew York or Chicago fills him 
with terror. The danger and noise make it appear like 
a permanent earthquake. But settle him there, and in 
a year or two he will have caught the pulse beat. He 
will vibrate to the city’s rhythms; and if he only suc¬ 
ceeds in his avocation, whatever that may be, he will 
find a joy in all the hurry and tension; he will keep 
the pace as well as any of us and get as much out of 
himself in any week as he ever did in ten weeks in the 
country. 

The stimuli of those who successfully respond and 
undergo the transformation here are duty, the example 
of others, and crowd pressure and contagion. The 
transformation, moreover, is a chronic one; the new 
level of energy becomes permanent. The duties of new 
offices of trust are constantly producing this effect on 
the human beings appointed to them. The physiologists 
call a stimulus “ dynamogenic ” when it increases the 
muscular contractions of men to whom it is applied; 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


97 


but appeals can be dynamogenic morally as well as 
muscularly. . . . 

John Stuart Mill somewhere says that women excel 
men in the power of keeping up sustained moral excite¬ 
ment. Every case of illness nursed by wife or mother 
is a proof of this; and where can one find greater ex¬ 
amples of sustained endurance than in those thousands 
of poor homes where the woman successfully holds the 
family together and keeps it going by taking all the 
thought and doing all the work — nursing, teaching, 
cooking, washing, sewing, scrubbing, saving, helping 
neighbors, “ choring ” outside — where does the cata¬ 
logue end? If she does a bit of scolding now and then, 
who can blame her? But often she does just the re¬ 
verse, keeping the children clean and the man good- 
tempered, and soothing and smoothing the whole neigh¬ 
borhood into finer shape. 

Eighty years ago a certain Montyon left to the 
Academie Frangaise a sum of money to be given in 
small prizes to the best examples of “ virtue ” of the 
year. The academy’s committees, with great good sense, 
have shown a partiality to virtues simple and chronic, 
rather than to her spasmodic and dramatic flights; and 
the exemplary housewives reported on have been won¬ 
derful and admirable enough. In Paul 5ourget’s re¬ 
port for this year we find numerous cases, of which 
this is a type: Jeanne Chaix, eldest of six children; 
mother insane, father chronically ill. Jeanne, with no 
money but her wages at a pasteboard-box factory, di¬ 
rects the household, brings up the children, and success¬ 
fully maintains the family of eight, which thus subsists, 
morally as well as materially, by the sole force of her 
valiant will. In some of these French cases charity to 
outsiders is added to the inner family burden; or help- 


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less relatives, young or old, are adopted, as if tlie 
strength were inexhaustible and ample for every appeal. 
Details are too long to quote here; hut human nature, 
responding to the call of duty, appears nowhere sublimer 
than in the person of these humble heroines of family 
life. 

Turning from more chronic to acuter proofs of 
human nature’s reserves of power, we find that the 
stimuli that carry us over the usually effective dam are 
most often the classic emotional ones, love, anger, crowd 
contagion, or despair. Despair lames most people, but 
it wakes others fully up. Every siege or shipwreck or 
polar expedition brings out some hero who keeps the 
whole company in heart. Last year there was a terrible 
colliery explosion at Courrieres in France. Two hun¬ 
dred corpses, if I remember rightly, were exhumed. 
After twenty days of excavation, the rescuers heard a 
voice. “ Me void ” 2 said the first man unearthed. He 
proved to be a collier named Nemy, who had taken 
command of thirteen others in the darkness, disciplined 
them and cheered them, and brought them out alive. 
Hardly any of them could see or speak or walk when 
brought into the day. Five days later, a different type 
of vital endurance was unexpectedly unburied in the 
person of one Berton who, isolated from any hut dead 
companions, had been able to sleep away most of his 
time. 

A new position of responsibility will usually show a 
man to he a far stronger creature than was supposed. 
Cromwell’s and Grant’s careers are the stock examples 
of how war will wake a man up. I owe to Professor 
C. E. Norton, my colleague, the permission to print 
part of a private letter from Colonel Baird-Smith, 

2 Here I am. 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


99 


written shortly after the six weeks’ siege of Delhi, in 
1857, for the victorious issue of which that excellent 
officer was chiefly to be thanked. He writes as follows: 
“ . . . My poar wife had some reason to think that 
war and disease between them had left very little of a 
husband to take under nursing when she got him again. 
An attack of camp scurvy had filled my mouth with 
sores, shaken every joint in my body, and covered me 
all over with sores and livid spots, so that I was mar¬ 
velously unlovely to look upon. A smart knock on the 
ankle joint from the splinter of a shell that burst in 
my face, in itself a mere bagatelle of a wound, had been 
of necessity neglected under the pressing and incessant 
calls upon me, and had grown worse and worse until 
the whole foot below the ankle became a black mass and 
seemed to threaten mortification. I insisted, however, 
on being allowed to use it till the place was taken, 
mortification or no; and though the pain was some¬ 
times horrible, I carried my point and kept up to the 
last. On the day after the assault I had an unlucky 
fall on some bad ground, and it was an open question 
for a day or two whether I hadn’t broken my arm at 
the elbow. Fortunately it turned out to be only a 
severe sprain, hut I am still conscious of the wrench 
it gave me. To crown the whole pleasant catalogue, I 
was worn to a shadow by a constant diarrhoea, and con¬ 
sumed as much opium as would have done credit to my 
father-in-law, Thomas De Quincey. However, thank 
God, I have a good share of Tapleyism in me and come 
out strong under difficulties. I think I may confidently 
say that no man ever saw me out of heart, or ever 
heard one croaking word from me even when our pros¬ 
pects were gloomiest. We were sadly scourged by the 
cholera; and it was almost appalling to me to find that 



100 


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out of twenty-seven officers present, I could muster only 
fifteen for the operations of the attack. However, it 
was done, and after it was done came the collapse. 
Don’t he horrified when I tell you that for the whole 
of the actual siege, and in truth for some little time 
before, I almost lived on brandy. Appetite for food 
I had none, hut I forced myself to eat just sufficient 
to sustain life, and I had an incessant craving for 
brandy as the strongest stimulant I could get. Strange 
to say, I was quite unconscious of its affecting me in 
the slightest degree. The excitement of the work was 
so great that no lesser one seemed to have any chance 
against it, and I certainly never found my intellect 
clearer or my nerves stronger in my life. It was only 
my wretched body that was weak; and the moment the 
real work was done by our becoming complete masters 
of Delhi, I broke down without delay and discovered 
that, if I wished to live, I must continue no longer the 
system that had kept me up until the crisis was passed. 
With it passed away as if in a moment all desire to 
stimulate, and a perfect loathing of my late staff of 
life took possession of me.” 

Such experiences show how profound is the altera¬ 
tion in the manner in which, under excitement, our 
organism will sometimes perform its physiological 
work. The processes of repair become different when 
the reserves have to he used, and for weeks and months 
the deeper use may go on. 

Morbid cases, here as elsewhere, lay the normal ma¬ 
chinery bare. In the first number of Dr. Morton 
Prince’s Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Dr. Janet 
has discussed five cases of morbid impulse, with an ex¬ 
planation that is precious for my present point of view. 
One is a girl who eats, eats, eats, all day. Another 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


101 


walks, walks, walks, and gets her food from an auto¬ 
mobile that escorts her. Another is a dipsomaniac. 3 A 
fourth pulls out her hair. A fifth wounds her flesh 
and burns her skin. Hitherto such freaks of impulse 
have received Greek names (as bulimia, dromomania, 
etc.) and been scientifically disposed of as “ episodic 
syndromata of hereditary degeneration.” 4 But it turns 
out that Janet’s cases are all what he calls “psychas¬ 
thenics,” or victims of a chronic sense of weakness, 
torpor, lethargy, fatigue, insufficiency, impossibility, 
unreality, and powerlessness of will; and that in each 
and all of them the particular activity pursued, dele¬ 
terious though it may he, has the temporary result of 
raising the sense of vitality and making the patient 
feel alive again. These things reanimate; they would 
reanimate us, hut it happens that in each patient the 
particular freak activity chosen is the only thing that 
does reanimate; and therein lies the morbid state. The 
way to treat such persons is to discover to them more 
usual and useful ways of throwing their stores of vital 
energy into gear. 

Colonel Baird-Smith, needing to draw on altogether 
extraordinary stores of energy, found that brandy and 
opium were ways of throwing them into gear. 

Such cases are humanly typical. We are all to some 
degree oppressed, unfree. We don’t come into our own. 
It is there, but we don’t get at it. The threshold must 
be made to shift. Then many of us find that an ec¬ 
centric activity — a “ spree,” say — relieves. There is 
no doubt that to some men sprees and excesses of al¬ 
most any kind are medicinal, temporarily at any rate, 
in spite of what the moralists and doctors say. 

3 One with a morbid craving for alcohol. 

4 A group of symptoms occasionally appearing, probably inherited, 
indicating an impairment of natural qualities. 


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But when the normal tasks and stimulations of life 
don’t put a man’s deeper levels of energy on tap, and 
he requires distinctly deleterious excitements, his con¬ 
stitution verges on the abnormal. The normal opener 
of deeper and deeper levels of energy is the will. The 
difficulty is to use it, to make the effort which the word 
volition implies. But if we do make it (or if a god, 
though he were only the god of Chance, makes it 
through us), it will act dynamogenically on us for a 
month. It is notorious that a single successful effort 
of moral volition, such as saying “ no ” to some ha¬ 
bitual temptation, or performing some courageous act, 
will launch a man on a higher level of energy for days 
and weeks, will give him a new range of power. u In 
the act of uncorking the whisky bottle which I had 
brought home to get drunk upon,” said a man to me, 
“ I suddenly found myself running out into the garden, 
where I smashed it on the ground. I felt so happy and 
uplifted after this act that for two months I wasn’t 
tempted to touch a drop.” 

The emotions and excitements due to usual situations 
are the usual inciters of the will. But these act dis- 
continuously, and in the intervals the shallower levels 
of life tend to close in and shut us off. Accordingly, 
the best practical knowers of the human soul have in¬ 
vented the thing known as methodical ascetic discipline 
to keep the deeper levels constantly in reach. Begin¬ 
ning with easy tasks, passing to harder ones, and ex¬ 
ercising day by day, it is, I believe, admitted that 
disciples of asceticism can reach very high levels of 
freedom and power of will. 

Ignatius Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises must have pro¬ 
duced this result in innumerable devotees. But the 
most venerable ascetic system, and the one whose re- 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


103 


suits have the most voluminous experimental corrobora¬ 
tion, is undoubtedly the Yoga system in Hindustan. 
From time immemorial, by Hatha Yoga, Raja Yoga, 
Karma Yoga, or whatever code of practice it might be, 
Hindu aspirants to perfection have trained themselves, 
month in and out, for years. The result claimed, 
and certainly in many cases accorded by impartial 
judges, is strength of character, personal power, un- 
shakability of soul. In an article in the Philosophical 
Review, from which I am largely copying here, I have 
quoted at great length the experience with “ Hatha 
Yoga ” of a very gifted European friend of mine, who, 
by persistently carrying out for several months its meth¬ 
ods of fasting from food and sleep, its exercises in 
breathing and thought concentration, and its fantastic 
posture gymnastics, seems to have succeeded in waking 
up deeper and deeper levels of will and moral and intel¬ 
lectual power in himself, and to have escaped from a 
decidedly menacing brain condition of the “ circular ” 
type, 5 from which he had suffered for years. 

Judging from my friend’s letters, of which the last 
I have is written fourteen months after the Yoga 
training began, there can be no doubt of his relative 
regeneration. He has undergone material trials with 
indifference, traveled third class on Mediterranean 
steamers, and fourth class on African trains, living 
with the poorest Arabs and sharing their unaccustomed 
food, all with equanimity. His devotion to certain in¬ 
terests has been put to heavy strain, and nothing is 
more remarkable to me than the changed moral tone 
with which he reports the situation. A profound modi¬ 
fication has unquestionably occurred in the running of 

6 A type of insanity in which there are distinct periods of exaltation 
and depression, alternating with each other. 


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his mental machinery. The gearing has changed, and 
his will is available otherwise than it was. 

My friend is a man of very peculiar temperament. 
Few of us would have had the will to start upon the 
Yoga training, which, once started, seemed to conjure 
the further will power needed out of itself. And not 
all of those who could launch themselves would have 
reached the same results. The Hindus themselves admit 
that in some men the results may come without call 
or bell. My friend writes to me: “ You are quite right 
in thinking that religious crises, love crises, indignation 
crises may awaken in a very short time powers similar 
to those reached by years of patient Yoga practice.” 

Probably most medical men would treat this indi¬ 
vidual’s case as one of what it is fashionable now to 
call by the name of “ self-suggestion,” or “ expectant 
attention,” as if those phrases were explanatory, or 
meant more than the fact that certain men can be in¬ 
fluenced, while others cannot be influenced, by certain 
sorts of ideas. This leads me to say a word about ideas 
considered as dynamogenic agents, or stimuli for un¬ 
locking what would otherwise be unused reservoirs of 
individual power. 

One thing that ideas do is to contradict other ideas 
and keep us from believing them. An idea that thus 
negates a first idea may itself in turn be negated by 
a third idea, and the first idea may thus regain its 
natural influence over our belief and determine our 
behavior. Our philosophic and religious development 
proceeds thus by credulities, negations, and the negat¬ 
ing of negations. 

But whether for arousing or for stopping belief, ideas 
may fail to be efficacious, just as a wire at one time 
alive with electricity may at another time be dead. Here 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


105 


our insight into causes fails us, and we can only note 
results in general terms. In general, whether a given 
idea shall be a live idea depends more on the person 
into whose mind it is injected than on the idea itself. 
Which is the suggestive idea for this person, and which 
for that one ? Mr. Fletcher’s disciples regenerate them¬ 
selves by the idea (and the fact) that they are chewing, 
and rechewing, and superchewing their food. Dr. Dew¬ 
ey’s pupils regenerate themselves by going without their 
breakfast — a fact, but also an ascetic 6 idea. Hot every 
one can use these ideas with the same success. 

But apart from such individually varying suscepti¬ 
bilities, there are common lines along which men simply 
as men tend to be inflammable by ideas. As certain ob¬ 
jects naturally awaken love, anger, or cupidity, so cer¬ 
tain ideas naturally aVaken the energies of loyalty, 
courage, endurance, or devotion. When these ideas are 
effective in an individual’s life, their effect is often very 
great indeed. They may transfigure it, unlocking in¬ 
numerable powers which, but for the idea, would never 
have come into play. “ Fatherland,” “ the Flag,” “ the 
Union,” “ Holy Church,” “ the Monroe Doctrine,” 
“ Truth,” u Science,” “ Liberty,” Garibaldi’s phrase, 
“ Rome or Death,” etc., are so many examples of 
energy-releasing ideas. The social nature of such 
phrases is an essential factor of their dynamic power. 
They are forces of detent 7 in situations in which no 
other force produces equivalent effects, and each is a 
force of detent only in a specific group of men. 

The memory that an oath or vow has been made will 
nerve one to abstinences and efforts otherwise impossi¬ 
ble *, witness the u pledge ” in the history of the temper- 


6 Severe self-discipline. 

7 A catch by removal of which machinery is set working. 


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ance movement. A mere promise to his sweetheart will 
clean up a youth’s life all over — at any rate for a 
time. For such effects an educated susceptibility is 
required. The idea of one’s “ honor,” for example, un¬ 
locks energy only in those of us who have had the edu¬ 
cation of a “ gentleman,” so called. 

That delightful being, Prince Pueckler-Muskau, 
writes to his wife from England that he has invented 
“ a sort of artificial resolution respecting things that 
are difficult of performance. My device,” he continues, 
“ is this: I give my word of honor most solemnly to 
myself to do or to leave undone this or that. I am of 
course extremely cautious in the use of this expedient; 
but when once the word is given, even though afterward 
I think I have been precipitate or mistaken, I hold it 
to be perfectly irrevocable, whatever the inconveniences 
I foresee likely to result. If I were capable of break¬ 
ing my word after such mature consideration, I should 
lose all respect for myslf — and what man of sense 
would not prefer death to such an alternative? . . . 
When the mysterious formula is pronounced, no altera¬ 
tion in my own view, nothing short of physical impossi¬ 
bilities, must, for the welfare of my soul, alter my 
will. ... I find something very satisfactory in the 
thought that man has the power of framing such props 
and weapons out of the most trivial materials, indeed 
out of nothing, merely by the force of his will, which 
thereby truly deserves the name of omnipotent.” 

Conversions, whether they be political, scientific, 
philosophical, or religious, form another way in which 
bound energies are let loose. They unify us and put a 
stop to ancient mental interferences. The result is 
freedom and often a great enlargement of power. A 
belief that thus settles upon an individual always acts 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


107 


as a challenge to his will. But, for the particular chal¬ 
lenge to operate, he must be the right challenges. In 
religious conversions we have so fine an adjustment 
that the idea may be in the mind of the challengee for 
years before it exerts effects; and why it should do so 
then is often so far from obvious that the event is taken 
for a miracle of grace, and not a natural occurrence. 
Whatever it is, it may be a high-water mark of energy, 
in which “ noes,” once impossible, are easy, and in 
which a new range of “ yeses ” gains the right of way. 

We are just now witnessing a very copious unlocking 
of energies by ideas in the persons of those converts to 
“ JNew Thought,” “ Christian Science,” “ Metaphysical 
Healing,” or other forms of spiritual philosophy, who 
are so numerous among us today. The ideas here are 
healthy-minded and optimistic; it is quite obvious that 
a wave of religious activity, analogous in some respects 
to the spread of early Christianity, Buddhism, and Mo¬ 
hammedanism, is passing over our American world. 
The common feature of these optimistic faiths is that 
they all tend to the suppression of what Mr. Horace 
Fletcher calls “ fearthought.” Fearthought he defines 
as the “ self-suggestion of inferiority ”; so that one may 
say that these systems all operate by the suggestion of 
power. And the power, small or great, comes in vari¬ 
ous shapes to the individual — power, as he will tell 
you, not to “ mind ” things that used to vex him, power 
to concentrate his mind, good cheer, good temper — in 
short, to put it mildly, a firmer, more elastic moral tone. 

The most genuinely saintly person I have ever known 
is a friend of mine now suffering from cancer of the 
breast — I hope that she may pardon my citing her 
here as an example of what ideas can do. Her ideas 
have kept her a practically well woman for months 


108 


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after she should have given up and gone to hed. They 
have annulled all pain and weakness and given her a 
cheerful, active life, unusually beneficent to others to 
whom she has afforded help. Her doctors, acquiescing 
in results they could not understand, have had the good 
sense to let her go her own way. 

How far the mind-cure movement is destined to ex¬ 
tend its influence, or what intellectual modifications it 
may yet undergo, no one can foretell. It is essentially 
a religious movement, and to academically nurtured 
minds its utterances are tasteless and often grotesque 
enough. It also incurs the natural enmity of medical 
politicians and of the whole trades-union wing of 
that profession. But no unprejudiced observer can 
fail to recognize its importance as a social phenomenon 
today, and the higher medical minds are already trying 
to interpret it fairly and make its power available for 
their own therapeutic ends. 

Dr. Thomas Hyslop, of the great West Biding Asy¬ 
lum in England, said last year to the British Medical 
Association that the best sleep-producing agent which 
his practice had revealed to him was prayer. I say 
this, he added (I am sorry here that I must quote from 
memory), purely as a medical man. The exercise of 
prayer in those who habitually exert it must he regarded 
by us doctors as the most adequate and normal of all 
pacifiers of the mind and calmers of the nerves. 

But in few of us are functions not tied up by the ex¬ 
ercise of other functions. Belatively few medical men 
and scientific men, I fancy, can pray. Eew can carry 
on any living commerce with “ God.” Yet many of 
us are well aware of how much freer and abler our 
lives would be, were such important forms of energizing 
not sealed up by the critical atmosphere in which we 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 


109 


have been reared. There are, in every one, potential 
forms of activity that actually are shunted out from 
use. Part of the imperfect vitality under which we 
labor can thus be easily explained. One part of our 
mind dams up — even damns up ! — the other parts. 

Conscience makes cowards of us - all. Social conven¬ 
tions prevent us from telling the truth after the fashion 
of the heroes and heroines of Bernard Shaw. We all 
know persons who are models of excellence, but who 
belong to the extreme philistine type of mind. So 
deadly is their intellectual respectability that we can’t 
converse about certain subjects at all, can’t let our 
minds play over them, can’t even mention them in their 
presence. I have numbered among my dearest friends 
persons thus inhibited intellectually, with whom I would 
gladly have been able to talk freely about certain in¬ 
terests of mine, certain authors, say, as Bernard Shaw, 
Chesterton, Edward Carpenter, H. G. Wells, but it 
wouldn’t do, it made them too uncomfortable, they 
wouldn’t play, I had to be silent. An intellectual thus 
tied down by literality and decorum makes on one the 
same sort of an impression that an able-bodied man 
would who should habituate himself to do his work with 
only one of his fingers, locking up the rest of his organ¬ 
ism and leaving it unused. 

I trust that by this time I have said enough to con¬ 
vince the reader both of the truth and of the importance 
of my thesis. The two questions, first, that of the possi¬ 
ble extent of our powers; and, second, that of the various 
avenues of approach to them, the various keys for un¬ 
locking them in diverse individuals, dominate the whole 
problem of individual and national education. We need 
a topography of the limits of human power, similar 
to the chart which oculists use of the field of human 


110 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

vision. We need also a study of the various types of 
human beings with reference to the different ways in 
which their energy-reserves may he appealed to and set 
loose. Biographies and individual experiences of every 
kind may be drawn upon for evidence here. 


PBIMEVAL MAE " 1 
by Worthington G. Smith 


In contrast to the last article, which illustrates the operation 
of a cultivated mind, ever seeking higher levels of living, we 
have here a vivid picture of life among those early men in 
whom the power of thought was just beginning to emerge. 
These prehistoric humans were probably curious about the 
world in which they lived, but they had little reasoning power, 
and no mass of knowledge had been gathered by their prede¬ 
cessors for them to draw upon. The period of “ the primi¬ 
tive mind ” covers all but about five or six thousand of the 
half-million to a million years that man has existed on the 
earth. During this period our ancestors “had no civilization, 
and lived a speechless, naked, houseless, fireless, toolless life.” 
The account here given of life then is necessarily based upon 
very meager facts. 

Worthington G. Smith was an English geologist, whose chief 
study was the stone implements of early man in Great Britain. 

T HE geological age in which some of the earliest 
primeval savages lived, with the land outlines and 
elevations of the period, are well known. The larger 
animals and plants that were contemporary with the 
men are also fairly well known. Some of the ^earliest 
human ideas and acts are known. The ideas and acts 
that were beyond the then infantile human powers 
are also well known. A few broken skulls, with leg 
and arm bones, have been rescued from the drifts of 
riversides and the floors of caves, and similar deposits 
have yielded large collections of weapons and tools. 

1 From Man , the Primeval Savage. Edward Stanford, London, 1894. 


112 


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What modern savages are, alive and dead, is well 
known; many of the surroundings, acts, and thoughts 
of these savages are known. By putting known facts 
together, and by assuming that our savage precursors 
of far-off times had ideas not very unlike those of sav¬ 
ages of recent times, it is perhaps possible to galvanize 
the fragmentary hones of the primeval savage into tem¬ 
porary life. 

At the time when the earliest known race of men 
approached what is now Great Britain, the climate was 
probably not unlike the climate of today, varying only 
in its more equable, genial, and continental character. 
Britain formed part of the Continent, and much of 
the ground now under the sea was then dry land. The 
high and cold positions to the north of England, judg¬ 
ing by the absence of stone weapons and tools, were 
seldom reached by the primeval savage. As a rule, 
primeval man kept near to the margins of the wide and 
shallow rivers and brooks of the south; sometimes he 
lived on moderate elevations. 

The plants which surrounded the primeval savage 
were the plants with which we are all familiar as the 
native wild plants of the present day. A few alpine 
species, however, grew on the higher or colder positions 
to the north, and a few southern forms in the south. 
The whole country was, of course, more marshy and 
much more covered with forest and hush. 

The larger animals, exclusive of man, were very 
different from the animals now commonly found in 
Britain. The land being continuous with the Conti¬ 
nent of Europe, certain northern animals strayed to 
these parts from the north, whilst a series of southern 
animals reached here by land and water from southern 
Europe, Asia, and Africa. Very few of the smaller 


PRIMEVAL MAN 


113 


animal companions of man are known; their bones have 
probably nearly all fallen into dust and decay and per¬ 
ished with the comparatively small and soft bones of 
man himself. Workmen seldom look for or preserve 
small bones; they look upon the bones of largest size 
as of greatest value, although small bones are now of 
much greater value from an educational point of view. 

The fossil bones found associated with the- stone im¬ 
plements of primeval man show that the following ani¬ 
mals, amongst many others, were man’s companions: 
the hippopotamus, mammoth, elephant, rhinoceros, lion, 
wildcat, bear, hyena, ox, bison, and wild horse; the 
latter perhaps then faintly striped like a zebra. The 
hippopotamus reached what is now the Thames by 
rivers and the seashore from Africa; not being a flesh- 
eating animal, it would not be much dreaded by its 
human companions; the old bulls would, however, some¬ 
times scatter human companies. Neither would the 
hairy mammoth and the straight-tusked elephant molest 
the man further than by an occasional charge from a 
furious old bull. The rhinoceros was doubtlessly a 
dangerous animal, and no man would dare to face it. 
Men, horses, oxen, deer would all give a wide berth to 
the different species of rhinoceros; doubtlessly men, 
women, and children, as well as other animals, were 
often mauled, ripped, and killed by them. The stealthy 
and terrible lion, silent and swift of foot, together with 
the spiteful and ferocious wildcat, would always strike 
terror into the heart of the primeval savage. The bears 
would occasionally stray from their dens and attack 
wild horses, wild oxen, and deer. The formidable 
grizzly bear would doubtlessly sometimes attack the 
human families. The cowardly and terrible hyena 
would frequently chase or pounce upon men, women, 


114 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

and children, as well as on wild horses and oxen ; 
it would at times stealthily discover, bite, tear, and kill 
members of the human family at night. Packs of 
wolves, famished with hunger, would make short work 
of old men, women, and children. The fox lived in the 
woods, whilst the roe, the red deer, the reindeer, and the 
gigantic Irish elk would frequently be seen in glades 
and open places. An ape lived in the forest. Voles, 
beavers, and otters frequented the rivers. 

It does not follow that all these animals lived in one 
district or that all were present during the entire time 
that man existed as a primeval savage. Man him¬ 
self was not everywhere in northwestern Europe. 
Wherever primeval man was, the animals here men¬ 
tioned at one time or other shared the soil with him. 
Some animals preferred the cold of winter, others 
the heat of summer. Man had no summer or winter 
migration. 

The interest of all other animals completely palls be¬ 
fore the presence of man himself. Amongst all the other 
living creatures, what kind of man was the earliest 
human savage? 

Let us suppose that it is night and that we have 
reached, under the cover of darkness, a haunt of 
primeval savages. The nocturnal sounds are strange 
and startling; we hear the terrific snorting, blowing, and 
splashing of herds of hippopotami as they wade and 
walk through the water of the Thames and Lea or crash 
through the bracken and bush of the river banks; we 
hear the trumpeting and blowing of elephants and the 
roaring, snorting, and grunting of the rhinoceros. The 
roar of the lion, the devilish howling cry of the wildcat 
and the hyena, the growl of the bear, the roar of the 
bull, the howl of the wolf, the bellowing of the stag, 


PRIMEVAL MAN 


115 


the bark of the fox, the neighing of the wild horse, and 
the chattering of the ape are heard. 

But of all the sounds in which we are interested, none 
equals in interest and importance the voice of man him¬ 
self. Man’s voice at that time was probably not an 
articulate voice, but a jabber, a shout, a roar. A shriek 
or groan of pain is heard, a shout of alarm, or a roar 
of fury. Loud hilarious sounds as of strange laughing 
are heard, and quick, jabbering, threatening sounds 
of quarreling. Coughing is heard; but no sound 
of fear, or hate, or love is expressed in articulate 
words. 

If we imagine the darkness to have lifted, we see the 
men and women standing about or crouching, many 
carrying bones and stone tools, near fires. There is one 
central fire and several minor fires bounding the fringe 
of the human haunt. The fires are kindled from sparks, 
derived from the concussion of flints, applied to dry 
grass. Some of the men and women are feeding the 
flames with ferns, twigs, tree branches, and logs. Other 
men and women are seen sitting or lying about in dens 
or hovels formed of tree branches and stones, or resting 
under bushes, trees, fallen trunks, or natural shelter¬ 
ing banks of earth. Hairy children are seen running 
about or crawling on all fours. Bones, some with half- 
putrid meat attached, are seen strewn about in all di¬ 
rections. 

The human creatures differ in aspect from the gen¬ 
erality of men, women, and children of the present day; 
they are somewhat shorter in stature, bigger in belly, 
broader in the back, and less upright. They have but 
little calf to the legs. The females are considerably 
shorter than the males; they bear children in their 
early youth and cease to grow. All are naked, or only 


116 


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slightly protected with ill-dried skins. They are much 
more hairy than human creatures of the present time, 
especially the old males and the children. In this char¬ 
acter they resemble the present race of hairy Ainos of 
the northern islands of the Japan Archipelago. The 
hair is long and straight, not curly, the color probably 
bright chestnut red, and the skin copper color. The 
heads are long and flat, and the features perhaps some¬ 
what unpleasing. The foreheads recede; the large, 
bushy, red eyebrows meet over the nose; the brows are 
heavy and deeply overshadow the eyes beneath. The 
beards, whiskers, and moustaches vary in style and ex¬ 
tent, as such appendages vary now. Many of the women 
have whiskers, beards, or moustaches. 

You should be women, 

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
That you are so. 

The noses are large and flat, with big nostrils. The teeth 
project slightly in a muzzlelike fashion; the lower jaws 
are massive and powerful, and the chins slightly recede. 
The ears are slightly pointed, and generally without 
lobes at the base. Such ladies as possess lobes probably 
have them pierced, and a small feather (the forerunner 
of the earring) is pushed through the orifice. The 
pointed ear, like the depressed forehead and projecting 
muzzle, still survives. 

The human creatures are seen to he exchanging ideas 
by sounds and signs — not by true speech; by chatter¬ 
ing, jabbering, shouting, howling, yelling, and by mono¬ 
syllabic spluttering, sometimes by hilarious shouting 
(not true laughter), stentorian barking or screaming, 
or by the production of semimusical cadences. They 
are also expressing their thoughts by movements of the 
eyes, eyelids, and mouth; by grimacing and by gestures 


PRIMEVAL MAN 


117 


made by bbdy, arms, and legs. Tbe men and women 
have gestures and sounds sufficient for their wants. At 
a signal of danger they point and imitate the roar of 
the lion, the growl of the hear, or the bellowing of the 
elk. Some of the female adults are seen to be nursing 
or suckling hairy infants. Some of the older and feebler 
males and females are seen walking with branches or 
sticks hacked from trees. Some, especially the young 
people and children, are full of vivacity and frolic; 
others are in ill-health, burnt with fever, or wheezing 
and coughing with colds. Many are seen sitting on 
their haunches, motionless for long periods of time, as 
if in deep contemplation, but no prolonged attention is 
really given to anything. Some are more bestial, dirty, 
and parasite-infested than others; decency — or what 
is now termed decency — is unknown; some are clean, 
others very dirty, perhaps with hloody stains round the 
mouth and on the hands. Being social animals, some 
aid others in a light degree; they perhaps lift a fallen 
friend, extract a thorn, temporarily look after an 
orphan, or perhaps aid in catching parasites. If, how¬ 
ever, friends get badly hurt by beasts of prey or by 
accident, such injured companions are hunted away or 
killed as soon as possible. Fever patients, consump¬ 
tives, the blind, the half-blind, and fractious children 
are driven off and killed, for the earliest human savages 
probably possessed but scant sympathy for either pleas¬ 
ure or pain in their fellows. Primeval man doubtlessly 
resented the groaning of the sick and injured and the 
wailing of the infant. He did not bury his dead, and 
our remote precursors probably paid no more attention 
to a dead human being than a dog now pays to the 
dead body of a fellow dog. Death was not foreseen or 
understood. A dead man was merely a man lying down 


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who did not, could not, or would not get up again. His 
carcass was left for wolves and hyenas. 

As far as life was understood, everything that moved 
was alive. A man would therefore growl at his own 
intruding shadow or his own reflection in the water. 
He would shout in a threatening manner at thunder 
or lightning, at a sudden unwelcome hurst of hot sun¬ 
shine or a gust of cold wind. He was hardly more an 
intelligent and understanding observer of the phe¬ 
nomena of nature than a hyena or horse. If he fell 
over a branch, he would in revenge hack the branch with 
his flint implement; if he fell over a stone, he would, 
if possible, smash it. Any curiously twisted or con¬ 
torted branch or twig, any curious stone or fossil, he 
would pick up, examine, smell, and possibly dread. He 
would use his feet as well as his hands for moving twigs 
and small branches. Perhaps primeval men set up 
fetiches 2 in their haunts; they would naturally dread 
ferocious beasts of prey, and would probably support 
upon sticks the heads of dead hyenas, lions, bears, 
and perhaps even the heads of the more murderous 
men. 

Primeval man had no domestic or friendly lower ani¬ 
mals as companions; the men had not even tamed each 
other; the men of old were one with other animals. 

Some of the habits of primeval man would be star¬ 
tling to us now. The men lived in companies, and were 
consequently clannish. Visits from strangers would no 
doubt be resented; strange visitors would probably run 
great risks of being knocked on the head. 

Infanticide was probably common, too many children 
would not be wanted, and many more must have been 
born than could by any possibility subsist or be looked 
2 An inanimate object worshipped by savages. 


PRIMEVAL MAN 


119 


after. All weakly, fretful, or deformed infants would 
probably be killed, laid aside, or thrown away. 

Did any early members of the human family com¬ 
mit suicide ? Probably they did; the feeble, the dying, 
the maimed, the weak-headed, the starving, the jealous 
would be tired of life; these would throw themselves 
from heights or into rivers, or stab themselves, or cut 
their throats with large keen-edged knives of flint. . . . 

Females, being weaker than males, would be more 
often killed, and so at times become temporarily scarce 
in some haunts. Sometimes companies of strong males, 
armed with clubs and weapons of flint, would go to the 
haunts of strangers and capture females by force. 
Raids of this class would lead to terrific battles, and 
the older and weaker males would be killed; the strong¬ 
est, best made, and most agile alone would escape and 
survive. These raids would ultimately benefit the 
race. . . . 

The men of old would dream just as we dream now, 
but the dreams of old would be esteemed as realities. 
Dreams would often lead to killing. At pairing times 
males and females would dream of rivals; such dreams 
would lead to hostile visits to the rivals dreamed of, and 
the weaker would fall. 

The young people would romp and play, take hands 
and dance in rings. They would engage in sham fights, 
and the young males in fun would chase and shout at the 
young females. They would climb trees and swing from 
branch to branch and paddle about and play in the 
streams. They would play games of throwing stones 
and sticks. 

The primeval men and women would work as well as 
play. They would continually look after fuel to keep 
up the fires. All fallen branches and dry vegetable 


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material would be carefully gathered together. The 
younger and stronger men and women would hack and 
break off branches. They would not be able to tie up 
bundles. The older people, who were not strong enough 
to hack and break, would be made to carry the branches 
and sticks in their arms. Some of the larger branches 
would be used for building shelters, sties, hovels, or dens. 

Stone-implement making would be a great industry. 
The old males and females, aided by children, would be 
dispatched to look after suitable blocks of flint, to push 
such flint out of the chalk, stiff clay, or earth with 
sticks, and bring them to the human haunt. There, by 
the fireside, the more skilled and light-handed human 
creatures would, with anvil, hammer, and punch stones, 
fabricate pointed stone weapons and keen-edged oval 
choppers and knives. 

Dead examples of wild horses and wild oxen would 
sometimes be skinned, and the skins used as wrappers 
by the more powerful males and their favorite females. 
The preparation of the skins could only have been under¬ 
taken by the more intelligent men and women. The in¬ 
side of each skin would be well scraped free of super¬ 
fluous flesh with trimmed flints, and then strained, and 
pulled and pegged out flat on the grass, and dried in the 
rays of the sun. 

Primeval man is commonly described as a hunter 
of the great hairy mammoth, of the bear and the 
lion; but it is in the highest degree improbable that 
the human savage ever hunted animals larger than the 
hare, the rabbit, and the rat. Man was probably the 
hunted rather than the hunter. Outside the human 
haunt the men would see, hear, and dread the larger 
carnivorous and herbivorous animals. As a rule, these 
animals, unless driven by hunger, would not seriously 


PRIMEVAL MAN 


121 


molest the men. Each would keep at a proper distance, 
and in times of danger the men would take to the trees. 
It would be useless to take to the water, as most of 
man’s companions would be equally aquatic with him¬ 
self. Ho doubt the larger and more ferocious animals 
would startle smaller ones. These, in attempting to 
escape, would fall an easy prey to the sticks and stones 
thrown with the greatest precision by the men, women, 
and children. The men would frequently find the re¬ 
mains of oxen, horses, and deer naturally dead or newly 
killed, and only partially consumed by the lions, hears, 
hyenas, and wolves. 

The primeval savage was both herbivorous and car¬ 
nivorous. He had for food hazelnuts, beechnuts, sweet 
chestnuts, earth-nuts, and acorns. He had crabapples, 
wild pears, wild cherries, wild gooseberries, bullaces, 
sorbs, sloes, blackberries, yewberries, hips and haws, 
watercress, fungi, the larger and softer leaf buds, nos- 
toc (the vegetable substance called “ fallen stars ” by 
country folk) ; the fleshy, juicy, asparaguslike rhizomes 
or subterranean stems of the Labiatce and like plants, 
as well as other delicacies of the vegetable kingdom. He 
had birds’ eggs, young birds, and the honey and honey¬ 
comb of wild bees. He had newts, snails, and frogs — 
the two latter delicacies are still highly esteemed in Nor¬ 
mandy and Brittany. He had fish, dead and alive, and 
fresh-water mussels; he could easily catch fish with his 
hands and paddle and dive for and trap them. By 
the seaside he would have fish, Mollusca, and seaweed. 
He would have many of the larger birds and small mam¬ 
mals, which he could easily secure by throwing stones 
and sticks, or by setting simple snares. He would have 
the snake, the slowworm, and the crayfish. He would 
have various grubs and insects, the large larvae of beetles, 


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and various caterpillars. The taste for caterpillars 
still survives in China, where they are sold in dried 
bundles in the markets. A chief and highly nourishing 
object of food would doubtlessly be bones smashed up 
into a stiff, gritty paste. 

A fact of great importance is this: Primeval man 
would not be particular about having his flesh food 
overfresh. He would constantly find it in a dead state, 
and if semiputrid he would relish it none the less — 
the taste for “ high 99 or half-putrid game still survives. 
If driven by hunger and hard pressed, he would per¬ 
haps sometimes eat his weaker friends or children. 
The larger animals in a weak and dying state would 
no doubt be much sought for; when these were not 
forthcoming, dead and half-rotten examples would be 
made to suffice. An unpleasant odor would not be ob¬ 
jected to; it is not objected to now in many continental 
hotels. 

Scouts would be sent out to search for dead and dying 
animals. When found, they would be carried to the 
human haunt; such as were too large would be hacked 
to pieces with stone tools and sticks, and the limbs taken 
home separately. The heads of animals would be hacked 
and torn off, the skulls split open with ponderous stone 
axes, and the soft and tasty brains eaten on the spot. 
The old people, being toothless or nearly so, would be 
glad of a meal of this kind; they would not be able to 
chew tough meat. The old men and women would pull 
out the larger bones from dead animals, smash off the 
knobby ends, push out the marrow with a stick on to 
a large leaf, and eat it as one would now swallow an 
extra large oyster. The viscera of half-dead animals 
would be torn out, and the warm blood sucked from the 
abdominal cavity. If other animals were not at hand, 


PRIMEVAL MAN 


123 


the brains, marrow, and blood of other human beings 
would doubtlessly be used as food. 

It would not be safe to take meals outside the human 
haunt; the scouts would drag stores of animal food to 
the camping place. Here, seated around blazing fires, 
the primeval savages would eat their meat, vegetables, 
and fruit. As the men possessed no pots, they would 
walk to the nearest brook for water wherewith to quench 
their thirst; the primeval men would indeed altvays live 
close to a water supply. If they possessed vessels for 
holding liquids, such vessels might be bladders or 
stomachs, or rude blocks of wood hollowed out with 
flint tools into bowl shape. Broken and trimmed skulls 
would be used as vessels; human skulls, with the face 
and occipital bones broken off would make good drink¬ 
ing bowls. Erom such vessels water, blood, or blood 
and water, would be quaffed. 

The savages sat huddled close together round their 
fires with fruits, bones, and half-putrid flesh. We can 
imagine these men of old twitching the skin of their 
shoulders, brows, and muzzles, as they were annoyed or 
bitten by flies or other insects. We can imagine the 
large human nostrils, indicative of keen scent, giving 
rapidly repeated sniffs at the foul meat before it was 
consumed; the bad odor of the meat and the various 
other disgusting odors belonging to a haunt of savages 
being not in the least disapproved. In those times the 
olfactory nerves had not been injured by tobacco and 
snuff. We can imagine the dirty mouths frothing with 
excitement and epicurean delight and the display of the 
canine teeth as the savory morsels brought home for 
consumption were quickly eaten. Then as now, quar¬ 
rels would sometimes arise over meals. Some one 
would snatch away a nice piece of liver from some one 


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else, or some old man would take away a bone from a 
child, or some cause of disagreement would arise, and 
a horrible noisy fight would certainly ensue. 

Man at that time was not a degraded animal, for he 
had never been higher; he was therefore an exalted 
animal, and, low as we esteem him now, he yet repre¬ 
sented the highest stage of development of the animal 
kingdom of his time. 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 
by Ellwood Hendrick 1 

The sense of smell no doubt played a much more important 
part in the life of our primeval ancestors 2 than it does today, 
but even now we probably use our noses more often than we 
are aware. The study of the sense of smell is a complicated 
one, and in its investigation we must go to the chemist for 
the composition of odorous substances, to the physiologist for 
a knowledge of the reactions taking place in the nose when 
we smell, and to the psychologist to discover what happens in 
the brain when odors are perceived. This article is written 
by a chemist, Mr. Ellwood Hendrick, who has been specially 
interested in odor. 

Mr. Hendrick was bom in Albany, New York, in 1861. He 
studied chemistry at Zurich and came home to enter business. 
During a long and busy professional life, he has found time to 
write concerning chemistry for the layman; and by his humor, 
his easy and charming style, and the interest of his subject, 
he has gained a wide audience. 

I T is remarkable bow intimate the sense of smell is, 
how much it tells us and how largely it affects con¬ 
sciousness on the one hand, and how we scorn con¬ 
sideration of it on the other. It is the Cinderella of our 
organs of sense. Whether it was some sainted anchorite, 
or other enthusiast of imagination and influence who 
found the use of the human nose to be dangerous to the 
soul, we do not know, but in some way or other the con¬ 
scious exercise of the nose became taboo, and this has 

1 From Percolator Papers . Harper, 1918. 

2 Primeval Man, p. 111. 


126 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


entered into the folk-ways. It has ceased to be a sin, but 
it remains an impolite subject. 

The Arabs in their days of glory were not ashamed 
of their noses; and they planted scented gardens, won¬ 
derfully devised, so that he who walked through them or 
whiled away an hour there might rejoice in a cultured 
delight in odor. They were arranged so that at the 
entrance the olfactory sense would be struck by a per¬ 
vading and strong smell, not necessarily of a pleasant 
nature. From this the path would lead gradually 
through less coarse fragrances to those more delicate, 
until at the end there would be reached an odor of ex¬ 
quisite quality which only the cultured nose could 
appreciate. 

How that we are by ourselves in a book, let us cast 
aside convention and talk about it. Every one of us 
has his or her own odor, as distinct and personal as are 
our countenances. Every dog knows this and, unless his 
olfactory organs are atrophied, he makes good use of it. 
We constantly exude products of metabolism, 3 and in the 
composition of these products we all differ. Hot only 
do we differ from one another, but in no individual are 
these products constant. Ho chemical laboratory is 
equipped to distinguish these minute differences, and, 
so far as the writer is aware, the subject is still un¬ 
studied— except by dogs. They, with their highly 
developed olfactory organs, are impelled by curiosity 
to confirm their vision when they meet their master, 
and they make long and searching nose investigation of 
him, clearly with a view to finding out more than their 
eyes will tell them. We note, too, that dogs which fol¬ 
low the scent closely are likely occasionally to go into 

3 The process by which nutritive material is built up into living 
matter. 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 


127 


a mephitic 4 debauch with a decayed fish or any other 
substance of similar pungency, to “ clean their scent.” 
That after filling their nostrils with agony of that sort, 
they should find them in better working order is an idea 
that does not seem reasonable, and yet the method is 
probably a good one, for the same reason that the Arabs 
planted flowers of pungent and coarse odor at the en¬ 
trances to their scented gardens. 

The theory of smell as given is very vague; there is a 
presumable impact of particles upon the sensitive re¬ 
gions of the nose, which, in some way, is supposed to 
stimulate nerve reaction. Good work has been done, 
but not enough; and enough will not be done until there 
obtains a lively and wholesome curiosity about it. 

On the other hand, consider what illuminating re¬ 
searches are available in regard to sound and light! As 
an instance of the comparative attention devoted to 
these subjects, one has hut to open a hook of reference 
such as, for instance, the Encyclopaedia Britannica. In 
the last edition of this work over twenty-two pages are 
devoted to sound, sixteen to light, and but a page and 
a half to smell. 

Just think what we owe to our eyes and ears! 
Through them we gain nearly all of our knowledge. 
They are trained so that by them we read books and 
hear speeches; we note anger, deceit, joy, love; by sight 
and hearing we try to guess faithfulness and malice; in 
fact, through these two senses we draw the substance of 
our information. And yet we are said to have five 
senses. Neither touch nor hearing nor sight is within 
the scope of this paper, and taste is a limited sense, 
alive only to sweet, sour, hitter, and a few simple nerve 
reactions. Owing to the taboo of smell, we have credited 
4 Noxiously odorous. 


128 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


to taste most of those olfactory processes which we have 
cultivated. It is the smell of good food that we enjoy 
while we are eating it; it is the bouquet of wine that 
gives it its merit. We call it the taste, but it is chiefly 
the smell. It is nearly impossible, for instance, to dis¬ 
tinguish between what we call the taste of cinnamon 
and that of cloves if we hold our noses. 

So here is this organ, equipped for the acquisition of 
knowledge, as complex as the human eye, entering into 
the most active part of the brain; and we, marveling at 
the wonderful advances of human knowledge, neglect it, 
scorn it, politely deny that there even is such a thing as 
an individual odor to ourselves and our friends. We 
remain more ignorant than a dog about it. And yet, de¬ 
spite this neglect, it is always active. This must be 
true; else it would not he such an aid to memory as it is. 

I remember once, long ago, I employed a chemist to 
make a certain product that he had worked out in a 
factory under my charge. He demonstrated it in the 
laboratory and then proceeded, in the works, to prepare 
a few hundred pounds in some tanks and apparatus at 
hand. At this point it developed that the process was in 
conflict with certain patents and that we could not con¬ 
tinue without infringing upon rights of others that 
were already established. So the whole thing was given 
up, and that was an end to it. 

At the time I was intensely engaged in other prob¬ 
lems; and aside from occasionally visiting the chemist 
while at work, I had hut little to do with it. Shortly 
after that the works passed into other hands, and I quit¬ 
ted the practice of chemistry and went into business. 
Ten years elapsed, during which time I had been out of 
practice and wholly out of the thought of the process in 
question. Then I was informed that a chemical manu- 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 


129 


facturer was anxious to see me in regard to some patent 
litigation in which he was engaged. I feared I could 
not help him; I said I had forgotten everything I knew, 
but that if he wanted to see me I should be glad to meet 
him. He explained his problem and asked me about 
that process. I could not remember a thing. He sug¬ 
gested that we go through his factory, which we did. 
“ Hello ! ” I said. “ Here is some beta naphthol! What 
lovely figures it makes ! ” And I dipped my fingers into 
the water in which it was in suspension and stirred it 
around, watching the shining scales. Then I removed 
my hand and smelled of my fingers. In an instant I 
shouted, “ How I remember that process! ” and pro¬ 
ceeded to relate it to him in detail. Beta naphthol had 
been one of the materials used in it. 

If when you went to school as a child you carried a 
tin lunch box which often contained, let us say, some 
gingerbread and sandwiches and perhaps an apple, it is 
worth while to take a sniff at such a box again now. It 
is surprising how this simple experiment may recall the 
patter of long-forgotten feet and the memory of child¬ 
ish voices that startle over the lapse of many years. 

These flashes of memory aided by sense of smell are 
wonderful. Through smell we achieve a sense of the 
past; the secret members of the mind are roused to life 
and memory. What a pity that we waste this talent! 

Again, how often it occurs that we see a friend or ac¬ 
quaintance and exclaim: “ How strange! I was think¬ 
ing of you less than a minute ago! ” In point of fact, 
we have probably smelled him. Smell may also be the 
reason why we like some people and dislike others. I 
may want to introduce some one to you because you 
have many interests in common and may tell each other 
things you both want to know. But as soon as you 


130 


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meet you will have none of him; you know he is honest, 
of good repute, and admirable in a thousand ways, hut 
as for you, you are in great distress when he is around, 
and you are glad when he goes away. If you are of 
kindly disposition and fair-minded, you are probably 
annoyed with yourself for your prejudice; if you are a 
bumptious brother and selfish, you probably attribute 
some imaginary vice or evil to him by way of excusing 
yourself. In both instances it may be that you do not 
like the smell of him, although you do not know it. You 
see, we are ignorant in our noses — more ignorant than 
savages or even animals; we are very low in the scale 
of intelligence in this respect, and we respond to the 
olfactory reactions unconsciously. Notwithstanding 
our crass ignorance, the noses are still there, and we all 
really do produce odors despite our frequent bathing. 
Yarnishing the skin to close the openings of the sweat- 
glands would be the only way to put a stop to individu¬ 
ality of odor, and this has never been recommended as 
an aid to cleanliness or to health. 

Let us suppose the subject were not taboo and the 
good old Saxon word stink, which bears about the same 
relation to odor that noise does to sound, were not al¬ 
most unprintable — and suppose we really used our 
noses with consciousness and diligence. There would be 
Americas to discover, and life would be marvelously 
augmented! Of course, as soon as we begin to consider 
the subject we find ourselves wholly at sea. There are 
no standards. Out of the awful chaos in which we wal¬ 
low we can possibly find a few intimations, but we can¬ 
not put them down as rules. Thus it would seem that, 
in watching the order of nature, the olfactory phenom¬ 
ena of creation or reproduction seem to be agreeable and 
hence desirable, and those of dissolution are likely to 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 


131 


be disagreeable. So the flowers which precede the seed 
time of plants are likely to produce in the nose a sense 
of pleasure. They attract bees and insects which are 
useful to the maintenance of the species; but they at¬ 
tract us also, and the cause of our attraction is pre¬ 
sumably the same. Ben Jonson, when he sang to his 
mistress of the rosy wreath which she sent him, that “ it 
grows and smells, I swear, not of itself, but thee,” knew 
what he was writing. It may be, indeed it is probable, 
that the close relation of smell to sex phenomena is what 
caused the taboo. But there is a spirit abroad nowadays 
to search the truth, with the growing belief that it is 
well for humanity to adjust itself to the demands of 
that spirit. The search for truth, we' are beginning to 
think, is a wholesome occupation. 

That the phenomena of disintegration are unpleasant 
we know too well; in fact, we more than know it; we 
have made a convention of it. To make certain, we have 
put a social taboo upon nearly every odor except those 
of fruits and flowers. ¥e almost blush in passing a barn¬ 
yard, and I have heard a skunk referred to as a “ little 
black-and-white animal,” to avoid the inelegance of call¬ 
ing his odor to mind. Oh, we are exquisite! There’s 
no doubt of that, even if we are vastly ignorant. Re¬ 
finements of this sort are of weight in aiding us to make 
vain distinctions between ourselves and those people 
whom we regard as vulgar and common, but they do not 
aid us in the search for wisdom. 

]Now many of the processes of disintegration are un¬ 
pleasant, and they serve as warnings, but the best of us 
does not put his handkerchief to his eyes if he sees an 
unpleasant sight, or stop his ears if he hears a cry of 
pain. The best of us listens to hear where the trouble 
is and hastens to help if he can. But when we smell a 


132 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


disagreeable odor, we usually get up and run away. 
It is all we know bow to do. And every unpleasant 
odor is by no means a sign of danger or even of organic 
disintegration. Some entirely harmless products are 
dreadful beyond description in their odor; and on the 
other hand, the aroma of prussic acid and a number of 
other virulent poisons is delightful. 

But the field is far wider than these qualifications of 
pleasantness and unpleasantness, and we shall only 
baffle research if we wed ourselves to empirical rules be¬ 
fore they have been tested out. 

Sir William Ramsey, whose ever-young enthusiasm 
led him into so many of the secret gardens of nature, 
found a relation -between odor and molecular weight, 
and J. B. Haycraft has pointed out what appears to be 
a cousinship of odors that accords with the periodic law; 
another notes that odorous substances seem to be readily 
oxidized; and Tyndall showed that many odorous vapors 
have a considerable power of absorbing heat. Some 
work has been done in German, French, and Italian 
laboratories to discover the nature of the phenomenon 
of smell, but very little that is definite has been brought 
out; only here and there a few facts; and nobody seems 
to want to know them. 

And yet the scientific possibilities are very fasci¬ 
nating, even if they are bewildering. For instance, it 
appears that the sensitive region of either nostril is 
provided with a great number of olfactory nerve cells 
embedded in the epithelium. The olfactory cells are 
also connected by nerves which extend to the brain. 
Well, what happens when we smell anything? The 
olfactory nerve cells are surrounded by a liquid. What 
is the nature of that liquid ? Do the particles which we 
assume to be the cause of olfactory phenomena dissolve 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 


133 


in it ? If they do — and here we pray thee, oh, great 
Arrhenius, 5 come help us! — does dissociation take 
place, and are there smell ions? That is, do fractions 
of the molecules of those bodies that give odor dissociate 
themselves from the rest and ride in an electric current 
to the nerves? What do they do when they get there? 

Let us try again. The ends of the nerves must be 
covered with some sort of membrane. Here is where 
osmosis 6 may come in. 

Osmosis is the gentle art 

Whereby, as you should know, 

A substance sidesteps to the place 
Where it would like to go. 

Somehow it would seem that the particles that pro¬ 
duce the sensation of smell must get through those 
membranes at the ends of the nerves. If they do not 
get through themselves, they must project something 
through; it cannot he a simple tapping, gentle tapping, 
at the nose’s door. That might produce sound or heat 
or even light, but can it produce smell? Let us agree 
that the process may be an osmotic one and that the par¬ 
ticles glide through softly, gently; and without thinking 
that it has any special bearing upon the subject, let us 
remember that a healthy dog’s nose is usually cold. 

Having guessed that smell may be caused by an im¬ 
pact of smell ions upon the nerve termini and having 
guessed again that the process may be an osmotic one, 
we may be troubled anew with the question as to that 
liquid that we think covers the termini of the olfactory 
nerves. Of course, like other juices of the body, that 
fluid is in a state of colloidal 7 dispersion, hut how much 
do we know after we have said it than we did before? 

8 A famous Swedish scientist. 

6 Diffusion of a fluid through a membrane.' 

7 Noncrystalline. 


134 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


The organic chemists have outstepped the physiolo¬ 
gists ; they have discovered molecular cousinships among 
certain odoriferous substances, and in this connection 
there is considerable technical literature available to the 
perfumery industry. Here we learn how the olfactory 
drive of various substances may he increased or modi¬ 
fied by changes in their chemical structure. But with 
all good will to the soap makers, the perfumers, and the 
barbers, we are engaged in what the commercial traveler 
calls a different line; what we want is the philosophy of 
the process of smelling. 

In another respect research has been in progress for 
some time, and there seems to be light in the offing. 
The entomologists are at work, and they recognize this 
function in their study of insects. In a publication of 
the Smithsonian Institution of April, 1917, entitled, 
Recognition Among Insects, Dr. N". E. Mclndoo pre¬ 
sents a remarkable series of findings by himself and 
others, especially in regard to bees. It is shown that 
the progeny of each queen have a family odor, that 
queens themselves have a distinct queen odor as well as 
an individual one, but that, more important and super¬ 
imposed upon these, as it were, is the hive odor. That 
is the great passport, and any bee with a foreign smell 
that attempts to enter a hive is fallen upon by the 
watchers and is slain. If workers remain in the open 
air for three days, they lose the hive odor, and their 
sister guards are likely to kill them if they return. The 
insect trusts its nose, if we may so call its olfactory ap¬ 
paratus, above everything else. The hive odor is com¬ 
posite ; it includes that of the queen — and queens are 
especially aromatic — and the family and wax and hive 
material smells, so that it becomes so to speak, a balanced 
aroma, in which any change is easily recognized. 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 


135 


Although the queen does not rule, her presence means 
everything to the bees in perpetuating the colony. 
Therefore, if she wanders away, her absence is soon 
noted by the change in the smell, and the whole hive 
shortly afterward reaches a state of turmoil. It is like 
an organization of business men who suddenly discover 
through other senses that some important factor in their 
establishment is missing and without this factor they 
are bound to fail. The two situations are very much 
alike. As soon as the queen returns to the hive, her 
presence is felt by the change in the odor, and then the 
bees go to work again, apparently assured that all is well 
in their world once more, because the smell is right. 

When a foreign queen is introduced into a hive, the 
shrewd hee-man fills it with smoke, which confuses the 
workers and throws them into such a state of excitement 
that they fill themselves with honey. More smoke is 
then blown into the hive; and by the time the workers 
have quieted down, the introduced queen has taken on 
enough of the hive odor to protect her. Without this she 
would be killed. The smell of a foreigner excites sus¬ 
picion among bees, and they are impulsive creatures. 

Ants are said to order their lives by smell in a man¬ 
ner similar to bees. Butterflies, which have the happy 
faculty of postponing their love-making until the end 
of their days, seem to glory in odors. Some species, in¬ 
deed, appear to have no less than three kinds. There is 
the protective odor which makes life unpleasant for 
an enemy, and an individual odor which possibly en¬ 
courages their amour propre. Then there is the al¬ 
luring scent which in some species is given off by the 
male and in others by the female. These are so per¬ 
suasive that on a fair, sunny day a single whiff is sup¬ 
posed to be convincing. Their potency is proved by the 


136 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


myriads of golden and red and yellow and orange and 
purple wings which, flutter away, as with one accord, 
to the flowery field where the butterfly parson lives. 

If, then, we find these phenomena among insects, why 
should we not study the human nose reactions? We are 
diligently making quest as to the nature of the atom, 
and good men are working over it; hut concerning the 
phenomenon of smell among human beings we are still 
mediaeval. Nobody knows, and many talk big. There 
is little progress to be made by vapid guessing outside 
of laboratories. But those of us who are inactive in re¬ 
search may be of use if we are only frank and talk 
about it enough to get it out of the taboo under which 
it has rested for over a thousand years. Then, if we 
maintain a simple curiosity, such as animates children 
and great men, there w T ill come from the laboratories 
one fact after another which has not been known be¬ 
fore. Then, some day, some one with the Vision will 
arise and arrange the facts in their right order, and so, 
suddenly, there will stand revealed the Truth! Thus, 
with the sense of smell added to the intelligent use of 
mankind, life will he greater and larger, and the bound¬ 
aries of human knowledge will he moved hack a span, 
and human understanding will take one more great step 
in advance toward the Infinite. 

To return to the dog, he seems to know and to recog¬ 
nize certain emotions through his nose. He seems to 
recognize fear, and to have all sorts of fun with it. He 
appears also to recognize good will — although not al¬ 
ways, as many of us can testify, — and he seems to know 
anger. Now we know that nerve reactions have a 
chemical accompaniment. Metabolism is often inhibited 
by them, the whole digestive process is frequently upset, 
and there is a fair possibility that the sweat glands are 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 


137 


so modified by emotions that their processes are in¬ 
dicative of emotional reactions. The trained nose might 
recognize this. If we should only advance along this 
line until we could recognize anger and fear, and pos¬ 
sibly deceit, consider in what measure life would be im¬ 
proved ! It seems a far cry to imagine, in a court of 
law, the witness testifying, with two or three good 
smellers sitting close by to note his sweat reactions; but 
it would be no more absurd than some of our courts to¬ 
day, with their far more misleading entanglements of 
legal procedure. 

We talk of the value of publicity in regard to cor¬ 
porate affairs, but we have only for a minute to con¬ 
sider what an aid to morals trained noses would be by 
way of effecting publicity in the family. The mere 
suggestion unlocks the door to the trouble parlor; but 
then, no one would try to lock it if he and his household 
were proficient in the art of smelling. The defaulting 
cashier would reek of worry clear up to the ceiling as 
soon as he made his first false entry; and if the specific 
odors of anger and deceit were discovered so that they 
might be known immediately, we — but this is not a 
theological discourse, and its purpose is not to describe 
Paradise. 


GKEENNESS AND VITAMIN “A” IN 
PLANT TISSUE 1 

by John W. Crist and Marie Dye 


The authors of this paper are both professors at Michigan 
State College of Agriculture and Applied Science, who in ad¬ 
dition to their teaching are carrying on investigation in this 
important new field of biochemistry. 

HE term “ vitamins ” is comparatively new in the 



JL vocabulary of science and in common parlance. 
The nse of this term has become surprisingly universal 
in an amazingly short time. At the thought or men¬ 
tion of it a sense of mystery and wonder creeps in, and 
such common commodities as cod-liver oil, yeast, milk, 
oranges, and carrots arise into consciousness as lowly 
things of vast consequence. However, though we have 
coined and popularized the term, are using it to name 
an elusive something which seems to be present in cer¬ 
tain food products, and are profiting from an increased 
use of these products, our generation cannot claim 
the distinction of having first learned that there are cer¬ 
tain edibles in nature which have a peculiar function in 
the promotion of human growth, health, strength, and 
longevity. History often serves as a curb which is ef¬ 
fective in the discipline of modesty. Green plants, most 
of which are classified as vegetables, have served the race 
a good while and, what is more, have long been recog¬ 
nized as having nutritional virtues exceeding those to be 
1 From the Scientific Monthly, Vol. XXVII, pp. 166-171. 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A ” 13d 

expected on the basis of their ordinary chemical com¬ 
position. 

In ancient Rome there was a great naturalist who 
wrote some valuable works on plant life. His name was 
Pliny. In one of his hooks is to be found the following 
story. The Emperor Augustus was dangerously ill. His 
death seemed certain. Lettuce as human food was in 
existence at that time. In fact, lettuce as a salad plant 
seems to have been raised as far back as we have any 
authentic history of mankind. It was served at the 
tables of the royal palace of Persia in the sixth century 
b.c. and was present in China in and probably before 
the fifth century a.d. Well, Augustus had a craving 
for lettuce, but his physician would not prescribe it for 
him. In that case, he adopted a common American cus¬ 
tom : namely, dismissed the doctor and retained another, 
whose name was Antonius Musa. This physician, be¬ 
ing more intelligent or else more cunning, immediately 
prescribed lettuce. The emperor ate it with abandon 
and promptly recovered. The commons of Rome showed 
appreciation by erecting a statue to the physician in one 
of the public squares of the city. This happening gave 
such publicity to the lettuce plant that it was made a 
part of the diet of the people everywhere in the nation. 
They used a substance called “ oxymel ” to preserve let¬ 
tuce that they might have it at all times of the year. 
The preserved product was known as “ meconia ” and 
was nearly as potent as the fresh material. Pliny re¬ 
marked of his own accord that the lettuce of the day 
contained an abundance of soporiferous 2 milk, was 
somewhat blackish in color, had a cooling nature, and 
that in the summer it was very grateful to the stomach, 
freeing it from nauseation and giving a good appetite. 

2 Sleep-producing. 


140 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


The disease known as “ scurvy ” was the main causal 
factor leading to the trial and use of vegetable products 
as specifics for disease. While scurvy is related to 
vitamin C rather than A, some incidents from its his¬ 
tory will serve to draw attention to the fact that long 
ago the general and also more or less particular value of 
fresh green vegetables was recognized. 

ISTo history of medicine could be complete nor even ac¬ 
ceptable if the name of John Huxham (1692-1768) 
were omitted. In his famous Essay on Fevers he dif¬ 
ferentiated typhus from typhoid fever. He was the 
man who prepared tincture of cinchona hark. His 
Essay on Antimony is a classic. Strange as it may 
seem, when, in 1747, twelve hundred of the seamen of 
Admiral Martin’s English fleet were down and disabled 
with scurvy, Huxham recommended that they he put 
upon a fresh vegetable diet. His prescription was a 
success. 

The value of fresh vegetables for seamen became more 
and more evident to other physicians of the'times, no¬ 
tably James Lind (1716-1794). Lind was surgeon in 
the Royal N"avy (1739-1748). He is referred to as 
u the founder of navy hygiene n and as the “ father of 
nautical medicine.” Something had to he done, for 
scurvy was putting the English navy out of commission. 
Lind saved the day by his insistence upon the seamen 
being fed citrus fruit juices and fresh vegetables. 
Largely through his influence the English government 
was finally led officially to include these items of daily 
diet in the ration of the navy. 

Below is given an extract from the personal memoirs 
(Vol. I) of General Philip H. Sheridan, U. S. A. It is 
an episode from his life while he was stationed at Port 
Duncan, Texas, in 1854. Speaking of this experience in 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A 


141 


the southwest the famous spokesman for the words, 
“ Turn, boys, turn, we’re going back,” says : 

During this period our food was principally the soldier’s 
ration; flour, pickled pork, nasty bacon — cured in the dust 
of ground charcoal — and fresh beef, of which we had a 
plentiful supply supplemented with game of various kinds. 
The sugar, coffee, and smaller parts of the ration were good, 
but we had no vegetables, and the few jars of preserves and 
some few vegetables kept by the sutler were too expensive 
to be indulged in. So during all the period I lived at Fort 
Duncan and its subcamps, nearly sixteen months, fresh 
vegetables were practically unobtainable. To prevent scurvy 
we used the juice of the maguey plant, called “ pulque,” and 
to obtain a supply of this anti-scorbutic 3 I was often de¬ 
tailed to march the company out about forty miles, cut the 
plant, load up two or three wagons with the stalks, and 
carry them to camp. Here the juice was extracted 
by a rude press and put in bottles until it fermented 
and became worse in odor than sulphurated hydrogen. At 
reveille roll call every morning this fermented liquor was 
dealt out to the company; and as it was my duty, in my 
capacity of subaltern, to attend these roll calls and see that 
the men took their ration of pulque, I always began the duty 
by drinking a cup of the repulsive stuff myself. Though 
hard to swallow, its well-known specific qualities in the pre¬ 
vention and cure of scurvy were familiar to all, so every 
man in the command gulped down his share, notwithstanding 
its vile taste and odor. 

These and other early and even ancient observations 
on the singularity of certain plants as possessors of a 
something that is very essential to the normality of the 
human organism are very interesting. Remembering, 
though, that human creatures in general have always 
had “ the will to live,” have always insisted on living 
the longest possible time and have ever sought desper¬ 
ately to remain in the best of health while living, we 
should not be surprised at what history reveals. It could 
3 Medicine for scurvy. 


142 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


hardly he expected that the race should have failed until 
now to stumble on to parts of the vegetable kingdom as 
sources of prevention and cure for some of the dreaded 
ills that have ever been in close pursuit, threatening to 
extinguish the species entirely. The crude yet quite ef¬ 
fective method of “ trial and error ” was in operation 
long before the dawn of what we are pleased to term 
“ the scientific era.” 

Not until the latter part of the nineteenth century 
did real scientific inquiry into this fascinating question 
begin. The splendid investigations of Eijkman (1897) 
pioneered the way. These were followed by the works 
of Hopkins (1906) and those of Holst and Froelich 
(1907-1912). The theory of vitamins or the necessity 
of one or more unidentified accessory factors (present 
in certain edible materials) for normal nutrition was 
originated, and as a theory has held the field against all 
others that have been proposed. And, at the present 
time, though we do not know exactly what any one of 
the several vitamins ( A, B, C, etc.) is, either chemically 
or physically, the evidence at hand is sufficient to make 
their reality seem overwhelmingly probable. We be¬ 
lieve in them hypothetically. 

For the purpose of the present article the so-called 
vitamin A may be selected out for special attention. 
It is referred to usually as the growth vitamin. In 
general, though not in particular, the definition is cor¬ 
rect. On diets deficient in vitamin A the expert diag¬ 
nostician notes several symptoms of disorder in the ani¬ 
mal organism, while the outstanding, summarized, 
clearly visible consequence is the lack of growth and 
even sharp losses in weight. Death may result if the 
deficiency of the vitamin is extreme and continuous for 
a relatively long period of time. Its significance is 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A 


143 


great enough to cause serious concern regarding its lo¬ 
cation in nature. 

Eresh vegetables constitute one of nature’s richest 
storehouses for vitamin A. This fact has been ade¬ 
quately proved; and now the recommendation of fresh 
vegetables for the diet of the human being, especially 
when still undergoing growth, is made universally in all 
civilized countries. This is well and good, but it should 
be emphasized that species of vegetables are quite nu¬ 
merous, that they vary considerably in vitamin A con¬ 
tent, and, furthermore, that there are many ways of 
preparing these products for the market, for preserva¬ 
tion and for being served at the dining table. Celery is 
offered to the consumer in the bleached state; lettuce as 
green leaf lettuce and also as head lettuce, where the 
greater part of the head is only slightly green to en¬ 
tirely nongreen; tomato fruits as they come ripe from 
the plant and again after having been picked green and 
ripened artificially with some sort of heat or gas treat¬ 
ment; asparagus is sold either fresh or in cans in both 
the green and the bleached state. These conditions 
have raised a number of questions, among which is that 
of the relative merit of a vegetable when bleached as 
compared with its value when green. Undoubtedly, the 
bleached product often looks more attractive, is more 
3 qcculent and brittle, has a nicer taste, is more suitable 
for some of the fancy notions of the chef, and, on the 
whole, serves the aristocratic ambitions of the persons 
concerned more efficiently. But, does it have equal 
quality as a nutrient material? All evidence obtained 
thus far goes to show that the green product is far 
superior to the nongreen. 

Experiments conducted in England have shown that 
the inner whitish leaves of the cabbage head are very 


144 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


poor in vitamin A , while the outer green leaves are rich 
in this respect. Through other experiments it has been 
demonstrated that the stalks of bleached celery contain 
no more than traces of vitamin A. This vitamin is also 
deficient in the inner leaves (the hulk of the head) of 
head lettuce, and in the innermost yellowish leaves is 
probably entirely lacking. At Michigan State College 
we have conducted some experiments wherein the vita¬ 
min A value of green and bleached asparagus in the 
diet of white rats has been determined. The results 
have not been published in technical form as yet, hut 
were reported at the meeting of the American Associa¬ 
tion for the Advancement of Science held at Nashville, 
Tennessee, in December, 1927. These experiments 
demonstrated that when growing asparagus is covered 
over in the row with soil, and the tips cut before they 
reach the surface and become green by exposure to the 
sunlight, their value in terms of vitamin A is very low 
indeed. Animals fed on the fresh white tips lost weight, 
became badly diseased, and died before the end of the 
sixth weejs:, while other animals receiving an equal 
amount of fresh green tips were healthy, vigorous, and 
gained weight at the rate of about five grams each per 
week. Approximately the same result obtained with 
other groups of animals where the two kinds of tips 
were cooked before being fed. In still other lots of 
animals canned green and canned white tips were fed, 
the daily amount of the white being double that of the 
green. The increased quantity of the bleached did not 
suffice to give growth or even prevent death, while the 
animals on the canned green tips grew in normal 
fashion. 

Clearly, it seems that there is some connection be¬ 
tween greenness in the foliar tissue of vegetable plants 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A 


145 


and their content of vitamin A. Just what the nature 
of this association may be is as yet an unsolved prob¬ 
lem. Scientists wonder if the green pigment or some 
part of its chemical make-up is itself the vitamin, or if 
the presence of the pigment is essential to the synthesis 
of the vitamin in the tissues of the plant, or if the pig¬ 
ment is merely coincidental as a side development in 
those conditions of environment in which the plant 
manufactures the vitamin. Their wonder is leading 
them to erect hypotheses and to perform laborious ex¬ 
perimentation in an effort to unravel the mystery. True 
enough, in a few cases animals have been made to grow 
when fed seedlings, which had grown under conditions 
that prevented their becoming green; but it required 
daily quantities of the material wdiich were many times 
greater than necessary of green seedlings. And fur¬ 
thermore, there is the possibility that the potentially 
green pigment bodies are present in such tissues in a 
colorless elementary state. In time, the deeper secrets 
will be revealed. Modern biological research is very 
aggressive and has already made a record that justifies 
confidence in its future. 

At the present time, though much has been accom¬ 
plished, it must be said that as regards the question of 
almost any one of the several vitamins perhaps only the 
threshold of inquiry and discovery has been crossed. 
Further progress in the task of revealing the nature 
of the relationship between greenness of plant parts and 
their vitamin A quality will hinge in part, perhaps 
in the main, on fundamental research with the green 
pigment itself, which is known to the botanist and 
chemist as “ chlorophyll.” A good deal is already 
known about it, but all this is probably meager com¬ 
pared to what is not known and should be learned. It 


146 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


is made up of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and 
magnesium in the general proportion of C 55 H 72 0 6 N^ 4 Mg. 
The structure of the molecule is very complex and need 
not be discussed here. It exists in the normal green 
leaf in at least two slightly different forms of varieties 
which are not exactly the same in either structure or 
proportion of chemical elements. Basically, it is an or¬ 
ganic acid of the tricarboxylic type, combined with two 
alcohols (methyl or wood alcohol and phytol alcohol). 
Due to this fact, it is classed as an “ ester ” and belongs 
in that great general group of compounds which con¬ 
tains, roughly, such familiar things as butter, tallow, 
olive oil, beeswax, and most of the artificially manu¬ 
factured fruit essences. Generally speaking, chlorophyll 
does not form in the leaf in the dark and is less in plants 
heavily shaded while growing. It does not form unless 
iron be present in the plant cell and carbon dioxide in 
the atmosphere surrounding the plant. Plant parts 
without chlorophyll are incapable of manufacturing the 
sugars that are synthesized in these parts when they are 
green and exposed to light. Though leaves contain suf¬ 
ficient chlorophyll, they do not function in food manu¬ 
facture unless they are exposed to light. In some 
mysterious way chlorophyll manages to capture, trans¬ 
form, and render available the energy contained in rays 
of light. All this seems like a good deal to know. But 
really, it may be a mere beginning of knowledge. Why 
are these things so? How do they come about? If 
chlorophyll in either an elementary or finished form is 
indispensable to the production of vitamin A in plants, 
we as yet have hardly the slightest inkling as to just 
what the subtle connection and process is in its details. 
Once such information has been mined and systematized 
the synthesis of the vitamin in the laboratory may be 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A 


147 


possible and its function and employment in the diet of 
human beings be rendered more intelligent. 

In the meantime, while we wait upon science, it is 
well to eat fresh vegetables and still better to prefer that 
these be decidedly green in color, when it is the foliar 
part of the plant which is used. That last clause is in¬ 
serted lest it be forgotten that with a good many vege¬ 
tables the edible portions are not foliar in character and 
are not green. Examples of this are the fleshy roots of 
the carrot, the beet, and the radish. Are these to be 
excluded because they are yellow, red, and white, rather 
than green ? Certainly not, for experiments have shown 
that they contain the vitamin factors. They were pro¬ 
duced as parts of plants whose tops were green. The 
food substances they contain were built up in these 
tops and transported to the roots for storage, and like¬ 
wise the vitamins that are known to be there. Milk, 
butter, cheese, and other food products coming from 
domestic animals are not green, and yet they afford 
vitamin A. The answer is apparent when it is recalled 
that these are herbivorous animals in part or entirely. 
The amount of vitamin A in cow’s milk and conse¬ 
quently in the butter made from this milk varies with 
changes in the pasturage or the plant roughage fur¬ 
nished for the cows. 

This article should not be concluded without the ad¬ 
dition of two or th^ee paragraphs that are somewhat 
critical in nature. 

Scientific discoveries usually arrive at the stage of 
completion by slow degrees. Oftentimes, as in the case 
of the vitamins, long before investigation has been con¬ 
cluded the discovery becomes known to and is appro¬ 
priated by the public. Frequently the new thing creates 
more or less of a sensation. It is adopted at once and 


148 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


in a manner more or less fanatical. We may, in our 
great enthusiasm, run past the limits set by the lack 
of more complete experimentation and understanding. 
When so, we take the risk of useless worries and costly 
mistakes. Many who have insisted prematurely on the 
X-rays, radium emanations, and ultra-violet light have 
had no benefits or else got burned by “playing with 
the fire/ 7 The point is that even though fresh green 
vegetables have been proved to he rich in vitamin A, 
and some of the other vitamins as well, it is unwise 
to become so excited about it that we overdo the eating 
of them, in the sense of throwing the diet out of bal¬ 
ance. Food products other than green vegetables afford 
vitamin A and are imperative for certain additional 
properties not common to green vegetables. Every 
vitamin is essential, hut the foods containing it are re¬ 
quired for other reasons as well. Because of this there 
must he a variety with the several individual items 
therein properly selected and correctly proportioned. 
This having been accomplished, the all-important vita¬ 
mins, as best we know now, take up as a part of their 
duty the task of acting as stimulators which serve to 
facilitate and regulate the biological processes in which 
the foods that afford energy and give tissue building 
material are digested, absorbed, distributed, and as¬ 
similated. 

Secondly, it is apparent that tfyere is a tendency to 
misjudge the relationship of vitamins to nutritional 
disorders. Xo doubt vitamin deficiencies are responsi¬ 
ble for a great many of the troubles which human be¬ 
ings experience, hut not all; for it should he remembered 
that there are at least some major and minor disturb¬ 
ances and irregularities with which vitamins may have 
little or nothing to do. Vitamins are not magic cure- 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A 


149 


alls for any and every sort of ailment that can occur. 
The need for expert diagnosis and treatment of nu¬ 
tritional troubles is not less but greater perhaps 
than ever before. Multiplied remedies demand in¬ 
creased knowledge and wise prescription. As the last 
sentence in his book on Scurvy Dr. Hess used the 
following: “ There is a growing danger of attribut¬ 
ing every unexplained nutritional disorder to the new, 
overworked, but ill-defined vitamins — of their shar¬ 
ing with the secretions of the endocrine glands the fate 
of becoming the dumping ground for every unidentified 
disorder.” While progress with an understanding of 
the vitamins and their roles in human nutrition has 
been made since this book was printed, the danger to 
which the author alluded has not disappeared. Ideal 
advancement is that type which is mixed with a degree 
of conservatism that is sufficient to make changes in 
practice wait upon the presentation of incontrovertible 
evidence of fact. 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 1 

by Everett Franklin Phillips 

The writer of this article is an American zoologist who is 
the leading authority on bees and honey in the United States. 
At present he is professor of apiculture at Cornell University, 
but for nineteen years he had charge of the work with bees 
under the United States Department of Agriculture. Everett 
Franklin Phillips was born in Hannibal, Ohio, November 14, 
1878. He was educated at Allegheny College and the Uni¬ 
versity of Pennsylvania, taught for a year, and then went to 
Washington, where he did much to further the progress of 
beekeeping in this country and to stimulate scientific work in 
this field. His investigations have enabled beekeepers all over 
the world to keep bees more intelligently and more profitably. 

H ONEY, the nectar of the gods, may he studied 
from many points of view. The most common 
method of “ investigation ” is to eat it, to discover its 
delicacy of flavor, or to look at it, to enjoy the play 
of light and shadow in the amber liquid, with its vari¬ 
ations of color and tint. But scientific investigation 
must include excursions into many fields — the source 
of sugars in flowers; the methods by which these and 
other substances are combined in nectar to give honey 
its beneficial characteristics; the methods by which 
supplies of nectar are found, and the news communi¬ 
cated from one bee to another; the uncanny means by 
which the raw nectar is gathered and transformed into 
the finished product; the practices best to he employed 
by beekeepers; the reasons for the rapid absorption of 
1 This article is printed here by special permission of the author. 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 


151 


honey when eaten by bees or humans — all of these 
are mysteries to be solved by the scientific specialist. 

Sugars are necessary to plants as food. 2 They are 
soluble in water and are therefore easily transported 
from place to place within the plants as required. One 
or more of the several sugars which plants manufacture 
from water vapor and carbon dioxide (carbonic acid 
gas) may be found circulating throughout green plants 
at all times during the active season. These essential 
plant foods are derived from gases in the air, so that 
their production means no loss to the soil in which the 
plants grow. Thus we may say that honey is largely 
made from air rather than from the soil. With so 
constant and almost unlimited a supply of sugar 
in plant tissues, it is not surprising that some species 
of plants have found uses for sugars other than as 
food. 

For the reproduction of plants, as with animals, it 
is necessary in almost all cases that a male cell he 
joined with a female cell in order that these united 
cells may grow to become a new individual. To pre¬ 
vent inbreeding, 3 it is desirable that a female cell of 
one plant be joined by a male cell from a different one, 
— not a male cell from the same plant. The pollen of 
flowers constitutes the male reproductive unit, and the 
bringing in of pollen from another individual plant is 
known as “ cross-pollination/’ which increases the vigor 
and fruitfulness of the offspring. Many different meth¬ 
ods have been evolved by plants to make cross-pollina¬ 
tion easily possible. Some pollens are carried about 
by the wind, some by animals other than insects, but 

2 This phase of the honey problem is discussed also in the chapter 
entitled The Chemical Factory in the Green Leaf. 

3 Breeding of animals closely related. 


152 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


the most effective agency for this work is insects. This 
necessity of the plant lies at the bottom of the honey 
industry, for plants lure insects to their flowers where 
the pollen is found, by secreting there small quantities 
of nectar, which the insects desire as food. They visit 
the blooming flowers regularly, and unintentionally and 
quite accidentally transport pollen from one to another 
flower of the same species, thus bringing about cross¬ 
pollination and serving a valuable purpose to the plant. 
Not all those plants which use nectar to attract in¬ 
sects supply it in such abundance that man can take it 
for his own use. The number which provide most of 
our honey supply is small, and in any given region there 
will usually be found not more than three or four species 
of plants which furnish enough nectar for us to regale 
ourselves with recognizable, characteristic honeys from 
these species. 

A vast number of different species of insects seek food 
in the parts of the flower where nectar is secreted, some 
coming for their daily meals, and others coming to 
steal pollen for immediate use. Other insects collect 
nectar or pollen with which to feed their young as well 
as themselves, and these must search harder and make 
more visits to the flowers. Butterflies and beetles which 
visit flowers are wholly selfish in their search, while 
as a rule, bees, of which there are many kinds, visit the 
flowers to collect food for their brood as well as for 
themselves. Honeybees live in large colonies, and the 
total amount of food necessary for from ten thousand 
to seventy thousand individuals is large. The number 
of young bees developed during a season is enormous, 
and for this purpose also much food is needed. Bor 
these reasons, honeybees collect from the flowers more 
industriously, more constantly, and more effectually 


153 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 

than do other species of insects, even more than the 
species of solitary bees. 

Our common honeybee, which is burdened with the 
formidable scientific name, Apis mellifica, is not native 
to America, but was brought from Europe in early 
colonial days. As a result of its foreign origin, the 
honeybee does not find in this country flowers which 
are adapted to honeybee visitations, but the imported 
honeybee must as best it can take advantage of nectar 
secretion which has been developed for the attraction 
of other insect species. The red clover, for example, 
is full of nectar, but the tongues of honeybees are not 
long enough to reach to the bottoms of the flower cups. 
Many of the more cultivated plants used in American 
agriculture were also brought to this country, and it 
is interesting to note that honeybees in America depend 
to a considerable extent on introduced species of plants. 
White and alsike clover, sweet clover, alfalfa, and buck¬ 
wheat are among the important cultivated plants which 
furnish the nectar from which is elaborated half of our 
marketable honey crop, while tulip tree, the California 
sages, tupelo, sourwood, and other native plants are 
the source of the other half. Many native plants pro¬ 
vide smaller quantities of nectar which is helpful in 
maintaining the colonies, but which does not produce 
honey in quantity. The honeybee seems to have done 
moderately well in adapting its gathering to plants 
quite unknown to its ancestors of the old world. 

Honeybees gather nectar and ripen it into honey not 
only for the immediate needs of the colony, but also for 
a rainy day. The bee colony remains active throughout 
the year, for bees do not hibernate in winter, and the 
long cold winter of the north is their most trying rainy 
day period. Bees are, fortunately for us, unable to 


154 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


know exactly what their future needs will be and do 
not cease gathering and storing merely because they 
have enough food within the hive for the coming winter 
and the following spring. As long as there is nectar 
in the fields and cells to be filled in the hive, they keep 
on working. The beekeeper then decides what they will 
need for the winter and removes the rest of the honey 
for his own use. The experienced beekeeper has a 
name for the honey thus removed which is highly sig¬ 
nificant and which shows that he appreciates the true na¬ 
ture of the removed product of the bees’ labor. He 
speaks of it as “ surplus honey.” The amount thus 
appropriated by the beekeeper, which we in turn may 
enjoy, is naturally a small fraction of all that the bees 
gather during a good season. Since the amount of 
surplus honey is determined by the beekeeper, it is 
rather natural that he sometimes makes mistakes and 
removes too much, with the result that the provident 
bees sometimes die of starvation before a new supply 
of honey is available. This is poor beekeeping prac¬ 
tice. Nectar is a minute fraction of all the sugar 
produced by plants; honeybees gather a small fraction 
of the nectar produced; the beekeeper removes a small 
fraction of the honey produced by the bees. From 
these eliminations it is clear that, while a skilled bee¬ 
keeper may obtain good crops of honey, what he takes 
for human use is an infinitesimal part of all the sugars 
produced so lavishly by plants. The beekeeper usually 
keeps not more than one hundred colonies in one apiary, 4 
and he considers himself fortunate if he may remove 
one hundred pounds of surplus honey from each colony, 
making a possible total of ten thousand pounds in a 
season from the apiary. This seems a great amount of 
A place where bees are kept. 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 


155 


honey; but if we recall that not all plants secrete nectar 
and that some secrete it in such small quantities as not 
to assist in honey production, we have suggested to us 
a vision of the magnitude of nature’s manufacture of 
sugar. If one were to stand at the edge of an apiary 
and should glance at the fields roundabout, he perhaps 
would not be impressed with the fact that he stands in 
the center of a tremendous sugar factory; yet this is 
actually the case wherever one stands among living 
plants. 

When flowers are in bloom in which nectar is avail¬ 
able, the bees search diligently for it, flying from the 
hive in clear, sunny weather for this purpose. Any 
person who has watched bees at work must realize that 
there is most surely some efficient system in their gath¬ 
ering; for bees do not compete with each other for the 
small amounts of nectar in flowers near their hives, 
thereby allowing nectar farther away to go untouched, 
but they seem to lay out the field in some mysterious 
manner which enables them to get most of the nectar 
produced within the range of about two miles from 
their home. 

First some of the older bees of the colony go forth 
as searchers to find nectar supplies. If a searcher finds 
nectar in quantity worthy of systematic gathering, it 
takes some and returns home. There it performs a 
dance which seems to give information to other bees 
that a new source of food has been found, and the dance 
for nectar differs from that executed when water or 
pollen has been discovered. 

The searcher thereafter becomes a gatherer and ceases 
to seek new sources. When it returns to the discovered 
nectar, in some way not yet known, others of the older 
or field bees also go to that source, but only enough go 


156 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

to do the work at Land. The original searcher and 
the gatherers which join her in the job stay by the 
task until nectar is no longer found there, perhaps for 
several days. 

When a gatherer returns to the hive with a load of 
nectar, it does not at once deposit it in the cells of the 
comb, hut the load of sweetness is doled out to several 
younger bees which have so far not begun work in the 
fields. Each young bee receiving a small amount of 
nectar at once proceeds to the complex task of changing 
it from nectar into honey. Eirst the excess water must 
be taken out, in order that the ripened honey will not 
ferment if it is stored for weeks or months. This 
necessitates the fanning of the nectar by the forcing 
of air currents through the hive for hours on end. This 
can best be observed of a summer’s evening, when a 
number of bees may be seen at the entrance to the hive, 
beating their wings like electric fans whirring. Nectar 
is often quite thin, usually being at least half water, 
so that the removal of the undesired water is a task of 
some magnitude. 

But honey is not merely concentrated nectar, for 
other and more significant processes are undertaken by 
those bees which have the ripening delegated to them. 
They set about the work of changing the sugar which 
is present in nectar, called “ sucrose,” into two other 
sugars, dextrose and levulose, by adding to the nectar 
minute amounts of a mysterious material known as an 
“ enzyme,” which comes from glands in their heads. 
As the removal of excess water goes on, so does the 
action of the enzyme, so that at the end of the ripen¬ 
ing process, honey consists of only a small percentage 
of water, and the original sucrose has been converted 
into the two sugars which are capable of immediate 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 


157 


absorption into the blood. The bees presumably do 
this work in order that they and their developing brood 
may later not be burdened by extra work in digestion 
of honey. This explains why honey is often called a 
“ predigested ” food, for as with bees, so when used as 
human food, it is at once absorbed into the blood. 

Besides the sugars and water in honey, there are 
present small amounts of plant dyes, which vary in pro¬ 
portions, giving the amber or golden colors to honeys 
from various plants. Honeys also receive special flavors 
from differing plants. In the plant saps occur minute 
amounts of certain complex volatile materials which 
are lost in part as the ripening goes on, giving notice¬ 
able odors which may be detected outside the hives. 
Fortunately, however, a considerable amount of the 
flavoring still remains in ripe honey making it superior 
as a food to common syrups or refined sugars which 
are only sweet. Each species of plant produces its own 
special odor and because of this fact the honeys from 
different plants can be distinguished by skilled honey 
tasters by their characteristic flavors. Some amusing 
features of flavors are occasionally found. The onion, 
for instance, produces some nectar; and when this plant 
is grown extensively, a distinct odor of the onion may 
- be detected about the hives during the ripening. How¬ 
ever, the “ onion odor ” soon disappears, and onion 
honey has a delicate final flavor, quite unlike what one 
might expect! Plants produce many odors, that of new 
mown hay being well known, and not all of them arise 
from the volatile 6 materials in nectar, so that there 
are many cases where the odor of the flower and that 
of the honey from the same plant differ considerably. 
White clover gives a honey of one flavor, buckwheat 

5 Evaporating rapidly. 


158 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


another, and alfalfa still a third, and so we might go 
through the list of plants which provide nectar for bees. 

The sap of plants contains various mineral com¬ 
pounds, derived from the soil, and these escape into 
the nectar during secretion. Hone of these are lost in 
the ripening process, and as a result are found in honey 
in small, though valuable, amounts. They consist 
largely of iron and lime phosphates, both of which are 
important food elements for humans as well as for 
bees and, like the color and flavor, constitute a trade¬ 
mark of nature for a natural and unmodified food. 
Highly refined foods, such as white, wheat flour, white 
sugar, and syrups lack some or all of these trademarks. 
Eminent food specialists condemn the excessive use of 
unnatural and highly refined foods and tell us that 
natural foods, unmodified by manufacturing processes, 
are to be preferred. When man begins taking things 
from foods, he sometimes takes out the most important 
elements. We cannot see the flavors in honeys, but we 
can taste them. We cannot taste the colors, but we can 
see them. The minerals present can neither be tasted 
nor seen, but the chemist finds them, and their presence 
serves as nature’s guarantee of the desirability of honey 
as a food. 

Of recent years much has been said and written on 
vitamins. 6 The exact nature of these materials is still 
unknown, but their vital importance in foods is known 
in part. It is, for example, found that if one vitamin 
is absent from the diet, rickets will develop in grow¬ 
ing children. The absence of another vitamin permits 
the development of the oriental disease beriberi; of 
another, scurvy; of another, various nervous disorders. 

6 For further discussion of vitamins see the article on Greenness 
and Vitamin ‘ ‘ A ” in Plant Tissue. 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 


159 


Badly formed teeth, deformed jaws, and bowlegs are 
evidences that at some stage of growth there was a 
deficiency of some important vitamin. These vitamins 
have not been seen nor analyzed, hut their importance 
to health is now appreciated. Honey falls in line with 
the desirable foods by containing some of the vitamins, 
especially the one known as vitamin B, which also oc¬ 
curs in yeast and in many other natural foods. While 
the vitamins are important in honey, it is perhaps best 
not to discuss them further hut merely to suggest that 
these substances constitute still another of nature’s 
trademarks of good foods. 

Sugars which occur so abundantly in honey are pri¬ 
marily valuable in providing energy and an ability to 
produce heat in the body; and as honey is immediately 
absorbed into the blood, persons exhausted by excessive 
exercise get an immediate response from eating it, their 
energy being restored. Proteins are another group of 
foods which are particularly useful in the building of 
tissues; and although honey is primarily an energy 
food, still, traces of protein are found in it. The 
amount is so small that honey should not he consid¬ 
ered as a balanced diet, nor should it be relied upon 
for the building of tissue. Few foods can alone be 
considered as balanced diet, and each should be used 
for its best purpose. 

There is a slight acid taste or tartness to honey, from 
the small traces of acid which are always found present. 
We here encounter one of the interesting myths which 
have grown up around honey. For a long time it was 
erroneously suspected or believed that the acid in honey 
came from the sting of the bee, placed there by the 
bee as a preservative. Ants produce formic acid; so 
it was guessed, since these two insects are rather closely 


160 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


related, that bees do also and that the acid of honey 
was formic acid. We now know that there is no formic 
acid in the poison of the bee sting and that bees add 
nothing from the sting to honey. We also now know 
that sugars are so concentrated in honey that no pre¬ 
servative is needed, any more than one is needed in 
well-made jams and jellies. Gradually, then, the basis 
for this old myth has faded away, until finally it oc¬ 
curred to one chemist that it might he desirable to find 
out just what acid does occur in honey. It sometimes 
happens that before ripening has been fully completed 
a slight fermentation of nectar may occur, which at 
once ceases when ripening has been completed. From 
this fermentation occasional traces of acetic acid may 
he found, the same acid which occurs in vinegar. This 
is relatively rare, and the usual acid in honey is malic, 
the one which gives to apples their delicious tartness. 

Occasionally bees gather, or elaborate from gathered 
material, some of the rare sugars. Such cases do not 
occur frequently, hut a few years ago some bees in 
Pennsylvania gathered from pine trees a sweet ma¬ 
terial which they ripened into a honeylike compound. 
On analysis this was found to contain an exceedingly 
rare sugar, melezitose. Previously this sugar had been 
known only from certain European trees, and the proc¬ 
ess of producing it for chemical studies was so com¬ 
plicated that it sold for several dollars an ounce. The 
Pennsylvania bees had found a new source and pro¬ 
duced so much melezitose that several hundred pounds 
were available. This amount broke the melezitose 
market, and the price dropped to about one dollar an 
ounce. The lot thus produced has now been exhausted, 
for the lowering of the price induced more chemists to 
use it in their investigations, but other supplies have 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 


161 


since been obtained from colonies of bees else¬ 
where. Tbe author once ate several pounds of a pecul¬ 
iar honey which was later found to contain melezitose 
— of course, without knowing it — and when the fact 
was discovered, he felt as if he had inadvertently 
swallowed a diamond. 

The materials found in some or all honeys have by 
no means been exhausted, nor do we exhaust the sub¬ 
ject when all the constituents are listed. There are 
physical peculiarities of honey which are even more 
interesting than the ingredients. If one attempts to 
make a solution containing one part water and four 
to five parts sugar, it will be expected that crystals 
will soon form and that shortly the solution will be 
crystallized solid. This is true of either sucrose or 
dextrose, both of which occur in nectar and honey. The 
third sugar, levulose, forms crystals only with difficulty 
and far more slowly. Since dextrose occurs in consider¬ 
able quantity in honey, with occasional traces of su¬ 
crose, one might naturally expect that all honey would 
soon form crystals until it became a solid mass. It does 
sometimes crystallize, and strangely enough housewives 
sometimes think that such honey has “ gone to sugar ” 
or spoiled. 

The three sugars in honey in a beautiful way so bal¬ 
ance each other that the entire solution may remain 
liquid for months or years. The exact manner in which 
each of these sugars influences the crystallization of 
the others is still something of a mystery, but it is 
astonishing that so concentrated a solution as honey 
ever remains liquid. Honey is actually a supersat¬ 
urated solution of the sugars; and if it were not for 
this sugar balance, it would immediately crystallize 
when ripened. Instead, then, of believing that crys- 


162 


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tallized honey is spoiled, it is proper to look on this as 
a normal thing for honey to do. No chemical change 
occurs when crystals are formed in honey, but one of 
the sugars simply takes a solid instead of a dissolved 
form, leaving all the other components in solution. If 
a bottle of honey which has crystallized is examined, 
it may be rather difficult to believe that any of it is 
still liquid; but if such honey is looked at under a 
microscope, it is found that each hard crystal is sur¬ 
rounded by a thin film of solution containing all the 
materials of honey except the dextrose. If one prefers 
honey in liquid form, granulated honey may be made 
liquid by gently heating wdthout any change in its 
merits or composition. For some reason not at all un¬ 
derstood, crystallized honey has a taste unlike that of 
liquid honey, a taste which many prefer. The taste 
may he further changed by grinding the crystals in 
granulated honey until they are still smaller; no change 
is thereby made in composition nor are the food value 
and flavor impaired. Not long ago the federal govern¬ 
ment issued an attractive poster showing honey of many 
colors and in several forms, bearing the significant and 
truthful legend, “ It’s all good honey.” 

One of the most interesting physical characteristics 
of honey lies in its disinfecting power. Most disinfect¬ 
ants which destroy minute organisms, some of which 
cause human disease, act chemically, but this is not 
the case with honey. Scientific workers are constantly 
seeking methods whereby disease-producing organisms 
may be transported, and a good joke on one of these 
workers must be told. He somehow got the idea that 
honey might be a means of carrying organisms causing 
human intestinal diseases, so he purposely inoculated 
honey with several of the bacteria which cause such 


163 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 

diseases. To his surprise, not only was his honey not 
a substance on which these bacteria thrived, but at the 
end of two days they had all been killed. We now 
know the reason for this valuable fact. The levulose 
in honey will absorb moisture from anything with which 
it comes in contact. The introduced bacteria naturally 
contained moisture, without which no plant or animal 
can live, and the levulose began at once to remove it 
and to kill the bacteria. It has long been known that 
honey is free of bacteria, hut now it is known that this 
freedom is due not only to the cleanliness of the bees 
and the care of the beekeeper but rests on the firm 
foundation of the power of honey actually to destroy 
bacteria, not by poisoning them as do most disinfect¬ 
ants but merely by drying them up. 

In order that honey may be available for human 
food, bees must receive proper care from the beekeeper. 
In handling bees, their owner must manage them so 
that their natural instincts may be used and may not 
receive interference from some blunder of his. He real¬ 
izes that he cannot change the bees — nor tame them, 
as some animals may be tamed. It should not be in¬ 
ferred from what has been said that all that is necessary 
to get honey is to buy some hives containing bees and 
set them out somewhere, for beekeeping is a complex 
business. To undertake even a brief summary of what 
the beekeeper does to and for his bees would entail a 
lengthy discussion which must be deferred to another 
time, but it may here be suggested that the manage¬ 
ment of these interesting insects serves as an excellent 
introduction to nature and her ways. 

Hot only does the beekeeper manage his bees but he 
removes the crop of surplus honey, prepares it in form 
for sale, and then markets it. He does nothing which 


164 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


changes the chemical or physical nature of honey and 
only puts it into convenient containers for handling on 
its way to the table. He is then a producer in the 
sense that he manages the bees so that they may do 
the actual producing, and he is a salesman and market 
man in so far as he brings it nearer the consumer. Bee¬ 
keeping is a business of detail, necessitating a study of 
bees and the nature of their product. 

This brief survey of the sources and elaboration of 
honey by the flowers and bees has taken us into the 
realms of the physiology of plants and insects, has sug¬ 
gested the study of the behavior of bees in their work 
of gathering and ripening honey, and has brought to 
our attention other interesting phenomena of nature. 
It has even suggested certain human peculiarities of 
taste. It is then no cause for wonder that beekeepers 
consider themselves naturalists. N"or is it any wonder 
that they are enthusiastic about honey as a human food. 
They know that at no time in the removal of honey 
from the hive and its preparation for market is any¬ 
thing done which makes it a product other than the one 
which the bees made from nectar. It is then properly 
called nature’s own sweet, unmodified by man’s manip¬ 
ulations. 

There are many cheap and often inferior hut highly 
refined syrups which resemble honey in color and ap¬ 
pearance, and it is not surprising that dishonest dealers 
have in the past added these cheap substitutes to honey 
in order to make a greater financial profit. Fortunately 
such deceptions are easily detected by the chemist, and 
the effective enforcement of the pure food laws of the 
federal government and of the several states have put 
a stop to these frauds. There is a real satisfaction in 
knowing that one may now buy honey with full assur- 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 165 

ance of its purity and with knowledge that it is a product 
of the flowers and bees and not of some factory. 

In the teaching of science, it is a commendable prac¬ 
tice to have laboratory exercises follow the lecture dis¬ 
cussions, so all that now remains is for my readers to 
take their laboratory course in honey. This is easily 
done. The material is on the markets, it is all pure, 
and it fits hot biscuits (preferably of whole wheat) as a 
key fits its lock. Again to quote the wise statement 
of the government of the United States, “ It’s all good 
honey! ” 


ANTS 1 


by Henry C. McCoolc 

This study of ants was written by an American clergyman 
who spent his vacations observing, experimenting, and writing 
about animal life, particularly that of ants and spiders. It 
is a curious circumstance that a great deal of scientific work, 
and some of the best work, has been done by the clergy of 
this and other countries. Whether it is that these men have 
a special thirst for scientific truth or that they have more 
leisure than other men in which to pursue their studies, or 
both, the fact remains. Dr. McCook’s investigations were 
carried on for over thirty years, and his interesting and accu¬ 
rate results are recorded in such valuable contributions as 
American Spiders and Their Spinning Work, Ant Communities, 
The Agricultural Ants of Texas, etc. 

Henry Christopher McCook was born in New Lisbon, Ohio, 
July 3, 1837. He was graduated from Jefferson College (now 
Washington and Jefferson) in 1859, then studied at the West¬ 
ern Theological Seminary. During the American Civil War 
he served as chaplain and first lieutenant in the Forty-first 
Illinois Regiment and during the Spanish-American War as 
chaplain of the Second Regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers. 
After laboring for seven years as home missionary in St. 
Louis, Dr. McCook became pastor of the Tabernacle Presby¬ 
terian Church in Philadelphia, where he remained the rest of 
his life. He died in 1911, after a long and useful career. Each 
summer he would leave the city for some part of the country 
where he could make a special study of some species of insect 
or spider, although as you can see from the accompanying 
article, a good deal of his observation was carried on right at 
home. 


1 From Ant Communities. Harper, 1909. 


ANTS 


167 


Warrior Ants and Their Equipment for War 

W AR, it is said, is a brutal way of settling differ¬ 
ences among men. That is true; and therein 
lies the fact which gives most serious pause to one who 
would study the subject philosophically, with an out¬ 
look upon nature at large. War is brutal — a natural 
habit of brutes, and of the whole realm of organized 
life below them, that wage war upon one another in¬ 
stinctively. Their natural life is one of endless conflict. 
They who justify war do so on the ground of its uni¬ 
versal prevalence among creatures in a state of nature. 
It is brutal but natural, and man, being of nature, has 
his physical kinships with brutes and their lower 
allies. . . . 

The writer . . . has had personal experience in two 
wars — the American Civil War and the Spanish- 
American, in Cuba. He knows well its worst features 
and its best. He believes that universal peace and 
fraternity ought to be the ultimate aim of our race 
and that armies and navies are justified simply as na¬ 
tional police forces for the administration of those 
benevolent functions for which governments should 
exist among men. Nevertheless, he recognizes that to 
many minds the force of the facts, as seen in nature, 
is not readily put aside and that the universal war 
habit of organized beings, as it appears to have existed 
in all time, seems to place upon a higher plane, as in 
harmony with natural laws, those warlike habits and 
acts that have dominated human history. This, at 
least, gives an exceptional interest to a study, for the 
sake of comparison, of the war methods of those lower 
orders of living beings whose social organizations 
strongly suggest our own. 


168 


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Among the foremost of these are ants, and ants, as 
an order, are warlike insects. The foragers carry their 
natural pugnacity into the field as isolated individuals 
and show decided courage in the quest of food. Therein 
they are freebooters. Whatever falls in their way and 
they are able to possess, they take. This, as in the case 
of human brigands, often requires an appeal to force. 
An ant commune is as fair a scene of peaceful indus¬ 
try as a beehive; but everywhere in its vicinage “ doth 
dogged war bristle his angry crest, and snarleth in the 
gentle eyes of peace.” 

This readiness for hostilities and ferocity in attack 
have been noted and recorded often of the hosts of true 
ants that swarm along the pathways of travelers in the 
tropics. For example, Stanley speaks of the “ belliger¬ 
ent warriors ” among the innumerable species of various 
colors that filled the African forests; of the “ hot-water 
ants,” as his men not ineptly named them, from the 
smarting pain of their stings; and of the minute red 
ants that everywhere covered the forest leaves and at¬ 
tacked his pioneers so viciously that their backs were 
soon blistered. These creatures doubtless acted from a 
principle of self-defense that led them to hurl their 
fighting myriads upon everything that crossed their 
way and disturbed their solitudes, though with no hos¬ 
tile intent. It was an act of natural belligerency, and 
no doubt was protective, in the aggregate, of life. It 
certainly seemed as little reasonable as were the un¬ 
provoked attacks of the human hordes of cannibal 
savages that assailed his expedition in their crowded 
boats, as he made his way through the heart of the 
Dark Continent, along the mighty Livingstone River. 
The tribes of ants and the tribes of men were not unlike 
in the native combativeness that animated them. 


ANTS 


169 


The woods within whose open spaces the mound- 
making ants rear their conical cities are also hospitable 
to the carpenter ants (Camponotus pennsylvanicus), 
and the two species are natural enemies. Wherever they 
chance to meet, a combat is inevitable, in which num¬ 
bers sometimes become involved, and always death and 
wounds succeed. Should one of these errant Camponoti, 
from a near-by nest in a white-oak tree, chance to cross 
a mound builder’s bounds, its tread, light as it is, affects 
the commune like a signal shot or a fire alarm. From 
the nearest gates issue squads of sentinels, who fling 
themselves in mass upon the intruder. Flight is thus 
hindered, even if it were considered; and despite the 
overwhelming odds, Camponotus joins battle and only 
succumbs, and is dragged within the walls, after a num¬ 
ber of its assailants have been maimed or slain. 

The agitation in such a case is limited to a narrow 
sphere, for somehow the commune knows that the 
danger is merely local. Therefore, outside of that cir¬ 
cle, the various duties of the government go quietly on. 
But it is a notable feature of this commune that upon 
a general alarm the whole citizenship rises up to meet 
the threatening peril. Many times in many ways has 
the author tested this. A few pats of the foot or strokes 
of a stick upon the surface would call out a host of 
sentinels and workers. The interior construction of 
the mound is well adapted to communicate sound 
of vibratory movements rapidly. Through the conical 
mass of intercommunicating galleries and rooms the 
agitation at the surface appeared to be quickly carried 
to all parts of the mound. 

At all events, it reached enough to call out, almost 
instantaneously, a multitude of insects. With antennae 
erect and quivering, with abdomens well raised from 


170 


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the ground, with legs ajerk and heads aloft, they circled 
about and rushed to and fro, their whole mien showing 
keen excitement. With them, assuredly, u the toil of 
war ” is “ a pain that only seems to seek out danger.” 
It is not a question of who has made the attack, or why 
made, or whether one or another should come to the 
rescue. At once the republic is ready to launch forth 
its entire force, if need be, against real or imaginary 
foes. This perfect unison in resisting the assault of an 
enemy is surely an element of civic strength and per¬ 
manence. During my boyhood a saying of one of our 
naval heroes was widely current, and was a theme for 
discussion in some of our Ohio debating societies: “ My 
country: may she always he right; but, right or wrong, 
my country!” Ho budding ant citizen would need 
to debate that question. The commune with ants 
always has absolute priority with all its citizens. 
Their supreme law is its demands, for life or for 
death. 

History and, indeed, our own observation have shown 
among men examples of somewhat similar communal 
unison under the impulse of great social movements. A 
wave of patriotic feeling will sweep over city or state 
or nation, and carry it swiftly along until the purpose 
or sentiment or emotion that inspired the movement 
shall be spent in achievement or hopeless failure. Such 
movements are more unanimous, and so more harmoni¬ 
ous, in ant than in human communes. There is absolute 
good temper and unanimity of feeling among the myri¬ 
ads of inhabitants of our emmet 2 mound city in all 
movements noted, whether peaceful or warlike. Of 
course, one does not expect such complete fraternity 
among men, even in far less widely extended citizen- 
2 An archaic word for ant. 


ANTS 


171 


ships. Whether in this the bipeds or the sexipeds are 
better off and nearer to nature, let the reader query. If 
one were to indulge such a fancy as that human civics 
have developed from such lower and simpler forms as 
ants exhibit, it would seem that in the evolution they 
have been carried a long way (in some respects) from 
the original type. 

Ho trait in emmet character is more interesting than 
this entire devotion of every individual, even unto 
death, to the welfare of the community. The uprising 
of a threatened ant city is a remarkable exhibition. The 
peaceful commune is instantly transformed into an 
armed camp. There is not the slightest delay or hesi¬ 
tation in the response. With utter abandon the little 
creatures hurl themselves upon their assailants. Ho 
question seems to arise: Shall we abstain? Shall we 
retreat ? 

Or shall we on the helmet of our foes 

Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? 

Ho condition of size or character in the adversary 
has the least influence upon their action. There is no 
trace of personal fear, no regard for life, no balancing 
of probabilities as to victory or defeat, but with the 
most formidable as with the feeblest enemy the ants 
join eager issue. There is no “ malingering.” Hone 
hangs back waiting for others to take the brunt of 
battle. In our mound-making ants, cowardice is an 
unknown vice. I do not recall a clear case of poltroon¬ 
ery. They are as valiant as they are industrious. In 
many cases the destruction of the defenders is foregone, 
and the foremost in the column are certain to perish. 
That may not be understood by them; but were it so, 
it would # not make any difference with these citizen 


172 


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warriors, with whom labor, health, unlimited service — 
life itself — are held as the unreserved heritage of the 
commune. 

There have been times in the history of human com¬ 
monwealths when a large portion of the citizenships 
reached as high a standard of patriotism. At all times 
there are some who, in the surrender of their substance, 
their service, themselves, and — yet higher sacrifice — 
their sons to the nation, show like devotion. But his¬ 
tory would surely falter if challenged to find among 
men a case of unanimity in devotion to the commune 
in time of danger equal to that of the mound-making 
ants of the Alleghenies. 

A good example of the pugnacity and courage of 
ants is a small species (Dorymyrmex flavus ) that digs 
its little nests upon the great open spaces surrounding 
the central mound of the Occident ant of Colorado. A 
large commune of the latter which had been badly dam¬ 
aged by the wash of heavy rains was a scene of active 
rebuilding. Four moundlets of Dorymyrmex had been 
reared upon the pavement, one of them quite near a 
center of operations in one of the main tracks by which 
the workers had ingress and egress. Here an incessant 
warfare was being waged by the dwarfs upon their big 
neighbors. Every Occident that essayed the passage 
to or from the ground was attacked. Squads of Dory¬ 
myrmex surrounded their single gate, and on the ap¬ 
proach of one of the Occidents the nearest warrior flung 
herself upon the unconscious intruder. That she was 
alone, that there was such disparity in size between her 
and her adversary were facts that plainly had no part 
in her calculations. 

It was curious to note the effect upon Occidentalis. 
She stopped instantly; drew her feet closer together; 


ANTS 


173 


stiffened the legs, thus raising her body well above the 
earth; bowed her back; elevated her head; stretched out 
the sensitive antennae, as though to guard them es¬ 
pecially from harm; opened the mandibles; and in 
fact, presented an amusing likeness to the pose of a cat 
at the first onset of a dog. The foreleg upon which 
Dorymyrmex had seized, and which had instantly been 
raised, was then shaken violently, and the little assail¬ 
ant rolled upon the ground. 

Thereupon Occident unbent herself and resumed her 
way. She scarcely had started ere her tormentor again 
was upon her, followed by another and another, until 
her body was dotted with the little vixens. They 
grasped her feet, fastened upon the under parts of the 
abdomen, mounted her hack, seized her antennas. They 
could not be shaken off. She snapped at them with her 
strong jaws, struck at them with her claws, doubled her 
abdomen under her body and thrust at them with 
her barbed sting. Some were crushed, some were thrown 
off, but others came to the assault. Anon the warring 
mass rolled upon the ground, a whirling ball of red 
and dark yellow, of quivering legs and antennae. At 
last the aggressors were driven off, or released their 
hold; and Occident retired to a safe distance, combed 
her ruffled hair, and passed by on the other side. 

Some of the Occidents, as soon as they neared the 
Dorymyrmex bounds, paused and stood quite still, as 
though reconnoitering the hostile quarters. The pause 
was fatal, for they were attacked at once by the vigilant 
sentinels, who sallied forth to a goodly distance upon 
the avenue. Others seemed to recognize that discretion 
is the better part of valor and made a wide detour of 
the skirmish line of the little vixenish raiders. It was 
plain that the Occidents thoroughly knew the qualities 


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and temper of their involuntary guests and regarded 
them with wholesome distrust, not to say fear. 

The result of the guerilla warfare above described 
was rather remarkable. The next morning, upon visit¬ 
ing the ground, I found that the Occidents had aban¬ 
doned their old avenue, had cut down and around the 
Dorymyrmex colony, and made an opening on the edge 
of a slight ridge several inches beyond the disputed 
territory, but still in the line of the avenue they had 
been using. A little of the pains required for this last 
would have cut out and carried away the whole Dory¬ 
myrmex nest space, whose contingent of diminutive 
warriors could have been overwhelmed in a moment by 
the legions of their huge hosts. Subsequently the Occi¬ 
dents made an amusing retaliation upon their wee tor¬ 
mentors, for I found their nest literally buried under 
the dirt excavated from the new gangway and dumped 
upon their gate and moundlet. It was a fitting and 
laughable punishment for the little churls, who, how¬ 
ever, would probably cut their way out, unless the 
process were continued. . . . 

The weapons with which ants carry on their wars 
are placed at the extremities of the body. A pair of 
movable jaws, or mandibles, are attached by strong 
muscles to the face. They are palmate, 3 toothed along 
the receding edges, terminating on the inside margin 
in a large pointed tooth or tusk. These two opposed 
instruments, working against each other, form the com¬ 
posite tool and war weapon of ants. With these they 
dig their galleries in the earth, or carve them out of 
wood, cut down grass, defoliate trees, seize and cut up 
food of all sorts. Being palm-shaped as a rule, the 
gathered and comminuted 4 material can be compressed 
3 Palm-shaped. 4 Reduced to fragments. 


ANTS 


175 


into their hollows and so be carried as conveniently as 
in a basket or barrow. As the muscles permit the 
application of much or little force at the insect’s will, 
the mandibles can be clamped together with power 
enough to break or tear tough fibers, or approximated 
so gently that the soft eggs and tender larvae can be 
borne about as daintily as an infant in a mother’s arms. 
Thus they aptly combine some of the qualities of the 
human band with those of a beast’s jaws. 

It is this instrument — for the two mandibles work 
together as one organ — that serves ants effectively as 
the chief weapon in their various combats; it is at once 
war club, battle ax, and sword; it will decapitate a foe 
with the facility of a saber or guillotine, will sever a 
leg or antenna as deftly as a scimitar, or crush a skull 
in its formidable vise as would tomahawk or club. It 
is terrible to see, in the fierce encounter of emmet war¬ 
riors, the cruel havoc wrought by this implement. 

As effective, perhaps, and fatal, but less apparent in 
its operation, is the weapon attached to the opposite 
extremity. Enclosed within the vertex of the abdomen 
is an arrangement of organs known as the u sting.” 
In one great division of ant genera these are veritable 
stinging organs, like those of bees and wasps. For ex¬ 
ample, in the agricultural ant, in which the author 
has studied them most carefully, they consist of the 
poison gland and sac, the accessory organ or oil sac, 
and the stinging apparatus. These are all situated in 
the lower portion of the apex of the abdomen, close to 
the ventral surface and are covered by the final ventral 
plates. 

The word “ sting ” as commonly used cannot he ap¬ 
plied to any one organ, but expresses rather a combina¬ 
tion of three organs, one of which, the sting case, is 


176 


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single; the others, the stinging prickles and the out- 
sheath which encloses them, are double. They are sup¬ 
ported within the apex of the abdomen and are operated 
by a most ingenious system of levers and muscles. 
The sting case is somewhat curved toward its chiseled 
point, which resembles a carpenter’s gouge. In the act 
of stinging, this gouge makes the first incision. 

The two shafts of the stinging prickles in repose are 
contained within the sting case; but are thrust out 
alternately when the ant stings, entering the wound 
made by the gouge, aggravating it, and injecting the 
poison. The prickles are slender, sharp, hollow, tri¬ 
angular chitinous 5 rods with barbed points. The 
posterior parts or shafts, which lie alongside each other 
within the sting case, are straight below, but at the 
top, or anterior part, are bent away from each other, 
forming the bows. Each sting prickle thus consists of 
a shaft and how which, as operated in action, serves the 
purpose of a spear, or lance, and bow and arrow. The 
force of human muscles by which the ancient artillery 
was made effective has its analogue in the protruder 
and retractor muscles of the ant, attached to the how of 
the prickles, by which the shafts, with their pair of six- 
barbed needles, are forced out and drawn hack. 

The above forms substantially what is the piercing 
mechanism of the harvesting ant’s sting. But the ant 
warrior does not depend upon the simple thrust of its 
lance to place its antagonist out of action. The poisoned 
arrows and the chemical projectiles of human warriors 
also have their representatives in the equipment of the 
emmet soldiers. Situated above the stinging mecha¬ 
nism, and communicating therewith by a conduit, is the 
poison sac with its included gland. Herein is secreted 
6 Bony. 


ANTS 


177 


a virulent acid which, being forced by muscular pres¬ 
sure into the hollow prickles, is carried down and into 
the incision made by the point, perhaps through an 
orifice in the barbs. 

Associated with this is the accessory organ or oil 
sac, located also just above the sting bow. Its duct, 
through which issues an oily secretion, enters the throat 
of the sting case close beside the opening of the conduit 
of the poison sac. Both ducts pass for some distance 
into the case, separated only by a delicate chitinous 
fold, finally to terminate together. The oily secretion, 
mingling with the acid poison, probably tends to dis¬ 
tribute it over a larger surface, with corresponding 
ability to injure, and may add to its power to adhere to 
and penetrate the attacked surface. Perhaps, also, it 
serves as a lubricant to the sting. 

In a large number of ant genera, including many 
with which we are most familiar, as Formica, Lasius, 
and Camponotus, the stinging organs are rudimentary; 
that is, they are without the sting proper. They have 
no lance or arrow to thrust into their foes. Their sting¬ 
ing organs, otherwise complete, are operated as acid 
batteries from which to shoot out poison streams. 
These enter the system of antagonists by the joints of 
limbs or other unarmored parts and produce paralysis 
and death. Camponotus will eject this formic acid 
in such quantities as to be visible to the naked eye. 
When large numbers of the Allegheny Mountain mound 
makers are irritated and given some object to attack, 
the fumes of the strong acid emissions are soon per¬ 
ceived. Lord Avebury found, after disturbing the nest 
of a species of Formica in Switzerland, that a hand held 
as much as ten inches above the ants was covered with 
acid. Their mode of punishing a human victim is to 


178 


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scrape away the outer skin with their mandibles and 
eject their poison upon the abrasion, which causes a 
painful smart. In combat they drench their adversa¬ 
ries from these formidable acid batteries. Thus ants 
are effectively equipped for both defensive and aggres¬ 
sive war. 

Ho living creatures known to the writer so closely 
resemble man in the tendency to wage pitched battles 
as do ants. Vast numbers of separate species, or of 
hostile factions of the same species, may be seen massed 
for combat, which is continued for hours, days, or, 
in at least one case noted, for over a week. Some of 
the most extensive battles observed have been fought 
between neighboring communes of Tetramorium cces- 
pitum, a small dark-brown species common to America 
and Europe. It abounds in and around Philadelphia, 
where it is popularly known as the u pavement ant,” 
on account of its habit of making its nest under the 
bricks and flags of sidewalks. 

I have often seen them engaged upon the large pav¬ 
ing flags that cover the walk from the manse through 
the grassy terrace fronting the church at Chestnut and 
Thirty-Seventh Street. They fairly blackened consid¬ 
erable spaces of the gray stones with the vast numbers 
of the combatants. Some details of one of these fights 
will give a fair type of all. In the center the warriors 
were heaped several ranks high. The mass seemed to 
boil with the intensity of the action. There was no 
appearance of orderly array or “ line of battle ” forma¬ 
tion. It was literally a melee, recalling descriptions 
of battles in the days of chivalry, when armored war¬ 
riors fought hand to hand. 

From the central mass the numbers gradually dimin¬ 
ished until, as spaces opened in the surrounding fringe 


ANTS 


179 


of the fight, one could see small groups of combatants 
scattered over several square feet of surface. Most of 
them were duels; hut trios, quartets, quintets abounded. 
In one case six ants were engaged with one; in the 
center two were tugging with interlocked mandibles; 
and five others were grouped around, like spokes in a 
wheel, each sawing or pulling at a limb of the unfor¬ 
tunate central integer, who was being torn to pieces. 
Here and there a larger group would be piled upon one 
another, heaving, pushing, tugging, like the athletes 
of a football rush, but with mortal intent. 

The duellists seized each other by the head, frequently 
interclasping mandibles and pulling backward or sway¬ 
ing back and forth. It was literally a “ tug of war.” 
Again, one would have her antagonist grasped by the 
face above the mandibles, which placed the latter at a 
great disadvantage. In such and other cases both ants 
would often be reared upon the hind and middle legs, 
with abdomens turned under and stinging organs out- 
thrust, making vicious stabs at one another. 

All over the field disengaged ants were running about, 
excitedly seeking a foeman, incessantly stopping to 
challenge with antennae, then hastening on until a hos¬ 
tile party was met, when at once the two locked mandi¬ 
bles and fell to. Many ran to and fro, stopping now 
at one group, now at another, to nip an abdomen, gnaw 
a leg, or snap at face or antennae, and then would rush 
away to some more promising service. 

Meantime, from the gates of the warring communes 
— small openings on the edge of the paved walk — 
two streams of recruits were pouring toward the scene 
of strife. Their bodies fairly quivered under the in¬ 
tensity of their emotion as they ran along, reminding 
one of human crowds hurrying to a fire or a fight. As 


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the two opposing streams met and intermingled, ant 
tackled ant in deathly grapple, and thus the fury of 
the battle was fed. 

Of one party, distinguished as 11 Alpha,” a long file 
of warriors was running from the field along the trail 
to the home nest. They challenged briefly every pass¬ 
ing fellow and pushed on. I conceived, as a solution 
of this conduct, that this was a file of messengers bear¬ 
ing from the field an appeal for recruits. They cer¬ 
tainly were not running away. All appearances and 
all experience were against that inference. At all 
events, the idea of a recruiting detail, a call for relief, 
fell in with the analogy of a human battlefield so 
strongly suggested by the scene before me. 

From the central point of the fight, as first seen at 
the edge of the walk nearest the “ Alphas,” the vortex 
of the combat gradually shifted toward the gate of their 
antagonists, the “ Gammas.” At first it seemed as 
though that army were being slowly pushed from the 
field. Hut if so, the tide of battle afterward turned; 
for victory finally remained with them, as far as it 
could be adjudged to either party. At this period the 
field of battle was spread over a space two feet long 
by six inches wide, the fighters grouped most thickly 
about two centers, beyond and around which the walk 
was dotted with many duellists and small contending 
groups. 

At 12 :30 p.m. the battle, which had begun at 8 :30 
a.m., was practically over. The “ rear guard ” of the 
Alphas were continually dropping into their home trail, 
and numbers of Gammas were filing to their gate in a 
sluggish way. Not a recruit from either side was coming 
to the field. The dead lay in little windrows where the 
tide of battle had left them, or whither they had crawled 


ANTS 


181 


to die, or the rising breeze bad borne tbem. Here and 
there among tbem were ants still living but fatally bnrt, 
struggling to drag their mutilated bodies from the 
mass. Even so, two enemies, when forced together in 
this grim fellowship, would grip one another and roll 
and strain, giving their waning strength to the last 
hostile tug. 

It was a not inept reminder of after-battle scenes 
among men. Only there was no hospital corps sepa¬ 
rating the dead and bearing off the wounded; no sur¬ 
geons plying their ministry of bodily help and repair, 
nor chaplains their ministry of spiritual consolation. 
Dead, dying, and wounded were all alike abandoned by 
their late comrades, a number of whom, on both sides, 
were now gathered around the pats of butter and sugar 
which I had vainly placed in hope to lure them from 
fighting. The refection which they refused during the 
heat of combat was eagerly accepted to refresh them¬ 
selves after the toils of strife. That, too, was a quite 
humanlike scene, for soldiers must eat and drink when 
the dreadful stress of battle is eased. However, there 
was no attempt by the living ants to feed upon the 
dead, as one sees under other conditions. 

The state of the wounded was pitiful, an exhibit in 
miniature of the dreadful aftermath of human battles. 
For example, here was a warrior whose middle leg on 
one side was sound, the hind leg cut off at the thigh, 
the front leg at the trochanter 6 — a mere stump. 
On the opposite side the hind and middle legs retained 
all the parts, but were broken, curved, useless, like para¬ 
lyzed limbs, the joint effect of its enemies’ mandibles 
and acid batteries. Its antennae were both paralyzed, 
bent up, and motionless. It was thus bereft of all sense 

6 Second joint of an insect’s leg. 


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of direction and all power of communication and pro¬ 
gressive motion. It lifted np its head again and again 
in vain efforts to rise. It shook its stumps of legs, 
rolled upon its side, rested a moment, and then with 
ruling passion of emmet tidiness, strong even in death, 
struggled to support itself upon its abdomen and tried 
to cleanse (perhaps to heal) with its tongue a foreleg. 

Its adversary had not a whole leg left, its most per¬ 
fect one being a middle leg that had lost the foot. All 
the others were torn off at the thigh, or the tibia, or 
close to the body, and one antenna was gone. There 
the two foes floundered close together, dismembered 
and dying, left to their fate by the comrades who had 
mutually helped in the achievement of this great victory. 
Like examples were scattered over the field, from 
which the rage of conflict had died away, except as it 
lingered here and there in duels or small groups of 
combatants doggedly fighting out their controversy to 
the death. 

From time to time various groups had been removed 
from the mass and placed in artificial nests prepared 
with a view to special experiments. Among these was 
a pair whose fate I wished to follow separately. One 
ant, that seemed to be quite sound, was interlocked 
with an antagonist much damaged, having lost several 
legs and an antenna. But it tightly gripped in its 
jaws a leg of its adversary who snapped at its antago¬ 
nist’s neck and face, and squirmed and doubled, and 
strove, with many contortions, but in vain, to disable 
its opponent and get free. As it promised to be a long 
engagement, I left them alone in their box and turned 
to view the battle. When I next saw the pair the duel 
was finished. The maimed warrior lay dead and near 
by the victor was seated upon a pebble nonchalantly 


ANTS 


183 


preening her ruffled coat, and with comb and tongue 
and spined limbs was repairing the damage of battle. 

I placed her near the Gamma gate, wishing to see 
if she could find her way home, and what would be her* 
conduct and reception. She ran about in an involved 
path for nearly fifteen minutes, covering a great space, 
and at last fell upon the regular trail to the nest used 
by the ants of that commune. But as she showed no 
familiarity with the field, I concluded that she belonged 
elsewhere, and transferred her to the vicinage of gate 
Beta, one of the outlets in the territory of the Alpha 
colony. 

She circled around in an irregular course, always 
drawing a little nearer to Beta. In her march she 
met a pair of combatants, exchanged antennal saluta¬ 
tions, and passed on. Presently she came upon another 
duel, again challenged, and again passed on. She acted 
as if lost, but kept bearing gradually toward the Alpha 
gate. How she met several scouts who challenged her 
with some evident doubt as to her status, but let her 
go. Next she was stopped by a group with whom, 
plainly enough, was exchanged a satisfactory password 
and “ Howd’e do! ” and then'she was off with a joyous 
trot. She had struck the home trail! In a moment 
she dived into the gate. Home at last — home from 
the wars! . . . 

What was the cause of these conflicts between insects 
that apparently ought to have been close friends? In 
at least one case noted the quarrel clearly arose over 
a find of rations. The center of the warring mass 
was some fatty matter which had been thrown on and 
around the seams of a brick pavement through which 
a large formicary 7 had cut its gates. Prom the 
7 Ant’s nest. 


184 


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battle field a column of tetramoriums three or 
four lines deep stretched along a depression made 
by a shallow surface drain to a second nest under 
*a gate that led through a party wall into a house 
yard. 

Apparently, the ants from the curb colony had fallen 
upon the unctuous treasure which had dropped by their 
door, but had been disturbed in their “ feast of fat 
things ” by stragglers from the gate nest. These were 
attacked; others came, and were also attacked. Mes¬ 
sengers ran to the gate nest for reenforcements; fresh 
squadrons issued from the curb colony, and so the bat¬ 
tle grew. It is probable that many like conflicts arise 
from rivalries for the possession of food; and as in 
the above case, it is almost sure that a communal war 
springs out of a quarrel between a few, who, appealing 
to civic partisanship, finally enlist in their contention 
the two communities represented. Of course, conflicts 
between separate genera and species are readily ex¬ 
plained by race antipathy. 

Perhaps the most usual cause for the wars waged 
between our city tetramoriums is the irritation pro¬ 
duced by the encroachment of the mining workers upon 
their neighbors in the enlargement of their living quar¬ 
ters. This is the more likely, as the most common 
period for the battles is the early spring, when the de¬ 
mand for larger room is greatest for the accommodation 
of the rapidly increasing young of the commune. The 
galleries, nurseries, and living rooms for the numerous 
males and females are pushed out with such fervor that 
the excavated pellets rise into heaps and moundlets 
around the nest gates. In such conditions the overlap¬ 
ping of the new boundaries is inevitable; and in the 
tense nervous strain and high communal pressure under 


ANTS 


185 


which the work is being pushed, the contact between 
the rival parties is almost sure to be hostile. 

As the season advances, and the excitement of home 
building and the keen fervor of communal parentalism 
abate, the war fever cools down, and peace prevails. 
Whatever be thought of the above as an explanation of 
the wars of our city tetramoriums, it at least opens to 
us a secret chapter in the life of ant communities that 
awakens unusual interest. It is the story of under¬ 
ground wars. The surface combats are sufficiently in¬ 
tense and tragical. But there is a mystery about the 
battles waged within the dark caverns of the communes 
beneath the surface that clothes them with an air of 
romance. 

Here are mining and countermining, just as one sees 
it in engineering campaigns of men, without the hor¬ 
rible accessories of explosives. Here a gallery is broken 
through; a sharp engagement follows; the assaulted 
party rallies to the defense of the works; the victors 
have pushed a way in; the vanquished fall back. But 
behind them a working detail has thrown up a strong 
barricade, behind which the besieged rally, and the bat^ 
tie goes on anew. . . . 

But in most cases no sufficient reason appeared for the 
frequent wars between the pavement ants. They are of 
one species, and in some cases, as it seemed to me, of 
one commune. Why should they fight? To be sure, 
civil wars are, unhappily, not unnatural to human so¬ 
cieties, and indeed to social aggregations of humbler 
creatures. But somehow one expects better things of 
ants, even though their “ ways ” may not he held as 
“ wise ” in all things as those of Solomon’s harvesters. 
Yet almost the first act of city tetramoriums, upon is¬ 
suing from their winter quarters, is to engage in fierce 


186 


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war with their neighbors or fellow-formicarians. At 
times throughout the season these hostilities were re¬ 
newed. 

if, as we conjecture, the individuals be of one nest, 
is this nature’s mode of distributing the species from 
the home center, by causing the worsted party to emi¬ 
grate? Or supposing the combatants to he of separate 
adjoining communities, is this wasting pugnacity a sort 
of emmetonian malthusianism 8 by which the surplus 
population is reduced and kept within hounds, much 
to the comfort of the survivors, and more to the satis¬ 
faction of man? Whatever theory or conjecture one 
adopts, he is apt to conclude that it is well nigh as hard 
to find a really good reason for wars of ants as for many 
wars of man. 

Another perplexing problem here arises: How do these 
ant warriors recognize friend from foe? The device 
of variant uniforms does not serve in this case, for they 
are all alike. Take a group of combatants in the hand 
and put them under the magnifier, as one can readily 
do, so intent are they upon mutual destruction. The 
most careful observer can note no difference between in¬ 
dividuals of the two factions; yet they do infallibly and 
instantly distinguish their nest fellow from the enemy. 
This is done by the antennae, which are kept in constant 
motion, the tips describing sundry curves. At a meet¬ 
ing between ants these organs touch and embrace the 
face; if the parties he friends, they pass on; if foes, 
they straightway begin to fight. The newcomers, 
thronging to the battle center, where hundreds are strug¬ 
gling in a heap that is chaos to the human eyes, but 
presents no difficulty to emmet senses, plunge into the 

8 Malthusianism, a theory advanced by Malthus, that population 
should be checked to prevent ultimate starvation. 


ANTS 


187 


seething mass and instantly recognize and join combat 
with their enemies. How is it done? 

Thirty-two years ago, while pondering this problem, 
it occurred to the writer that this recognition was based 
upon a certain odor, emitted in different degrees of in¬ 
tensity by the respective factions, or upon two distinct 
characteristic party odors. The degree of odor or dif¬ 
ference in odors, he thought, might be dependent upon 
some peculiarity in the physical condition or environ¬ 
ment of the antagonists. Supposing that there were 
any truth in this theory, it further occurred to him that 
the presence of an artificial and alien perfume strong 
enough to neutralize the distinctive animal odors, or de¬ 
grees of odor, and environ the combatants with a foreign 
and common odor, would have a tendency to confuse the 
ants and disturb or destroy their recognition of the dis¬ 
tasteful and exciting element. In which case he con¬ 
jectured that the result might be their pacification and 
reconciliation. Experiments were made to test this 
hypothesis. 

A number of warring tetramoriums, taken upon a 
flower border, were placed together in a large glass 
vessel upon some soil. The jar was vigorously shaken 
so that, if possible, the mechanical agitation might 
separate the combatants. The ants emerged quite un¬ 
affected by the miniature earthquake, to continue or re¬ 
commence to fight. When the surface was well covered 
with them and the battle was again at its height, a ball 
of paper saturated with cologne water was introduced 
into the jar. The ants showed no signs of pain, dis¬ 
pleasure, or intoxication under the strong fumes. Some 
ran freely over the paper. But in a few seconds the 
warriors had unclasped mandibles, released their hold 
of enemies’ legs, antennae, and bodies, and, after a brief 


188 


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interval of seeming confusion, began to burrow gal¬ 
leries in the earth with the utmost harmony. There 
was no renewal of the battle. The quondam foes dwelt 
together for several days in absolute unity and frater¬ 
nity, amicably feeding, burrowing, and building. 

This experiment was followed by others, varying the 
conditions and the individuals, but holding to the 
species. The result was always the same with Tetra- 
morium ccespitum. The perfume of the cologne proved 
a complete pacificator of the contending parties, and so 
far verified this theory. The alien odor neutralized the 
distinctive nest odors which had served to identify 
friends and foes, permitting them thus to return to 
their normal neighborliness, or in some way had molli¬ 
fied the hostile parties, and transformed them from 
enemies into amicable associates. 

Similar experiments were tried with colonies of car¬ 
penter ants taken from the Allegheny Mountains and 
from Logan Square, Philadelphia. These pointed to a 
conclusion just the reverse of the above. Whatever the 
cause — a failure of the experimenter in arranging his 
conditions, or the presence of some disturbing element 
that was overlooked, or because one or both parties 
were too far saturated and seasoned in their own 
native nest odor to respond to the cologne treatment 
—- the fact was that the experiments led to opposite 
conclusions. 

However, I had little doubt then, and have none now, 
that the original inference was substantially true in the 
case of wars between separate communes. The ants 
were recognized by a special odor which they absorbed 
during residence and which was stronger or weaker ac¬ 
cording to age and environment and conditions un¬ 
known. How acute and delicate and accurate must be 


ANTS 


189 


the sense organs seated in the antennas, which are in¬ 
struments of recognition, the facts related will show. 

“ He does not carry the odor of my species, my com¬ 
mune, or my caste. Therefore, we will fight! ” To a 
human philosopher meditating upon these things, it 
seems a small difference on which to divide two such 
closely related creatures into hostile camps. But may¬ 
hap he who counts this for abatement of the common 
fame of ants for wisdom might find, in the history of 
human wars, originating causes as insignificant and 
unreasonable. 

Honey Ants of the Garden of the Gods 9 

Ants and bees are inveterate seekers of sweets. Both 
have found a way to lay by their gatherings against a 
time of need. The measureless diversity in unity that 
marks the course of nature appears in that these two 
kindred creatures have reached the same end by ways 
most diverse. The bee keeps her treasure in wrought 
honeycombs; the ant resorts to living structure. She 
has not only acquired the habit of aphis culture, hut in 
a few species, at least, utilizes certain of her fellows as 
living honey jars. The story of this habit as seen in the 
honey ants of the Garden of the Gods (Myrmecocystus 
hortideorum) is now to he told. 

In a.d. 1832 Dr. Pablo de Llave made known the 
existence of Mexican ants some of whom have spherical 
abdomens filled with honey. His information and 
specimens came from a resident of Dolores, a village 
near Mexico City, who said that these honey-charged 
forms were there held to he great delicacies, being 
freely eaten and served at marriage and other feasts. 

This account greatly interested naturalists; but little 
9 From Nature's Craftsmen . Harper. 1907. 


190 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


more was known of the insect until 1879, when the 
author left Philadelphia for New Mexico, where the 
ants were reported to abound, hoping to remove this 
long reproach from American entomology. During a 
brief visit to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado, the 
honey ants were found nested upon the ridges. The 
trip to New Mexico was deferred; camp was made 
within the Garden, and study of architecture and 
habits was begun. 

The Mexican species (Myrmecocystus melliger ) had 
been reported as making no outer nest. The Colorado 
species, or variety, heaps around its one central gate 
a low moundlet of pebbles and sand, the dumpings from 
the galleries, halls, and rooms dug in the rock beneath. 
These moundlets are not huge cones outfitted for nest¬ 
ing uses, but the natural outtake of the mining gangs 
within. 

In form they are like a Turk’s-head pound cake, and 
are not above four inches in height, with a base girth 
of thirty-two inches. They have one main gate, a 
straight, tubular opening less than an inch wide, slightly 
funnel-shaped at the top. This cuts through the mound 
perpendicularly and is deflected at an angle more or 
less abrupt. Thence it leads into a series of branching 
galleries and rooms which in populous formicaries oc¬ 
cur in stories. These inner chambers are vaulted spaces 
of irregular shape; are five to six inches long, three or 
four wide, rising from a half-inch to an inch and a half 
at the center. 

A nest upon the summit of a ridge, made in the fri¬ 
able 10 red sandstone that there prevails, was chosen for 
thorough exploration. Its uncovering kept two men for 
half a week at work with chisel and hammer, including 
10 Easily crumbled. 


ANTS 


191 


the time taken in measurements, sketches, and plaster 
casts. The nest interior sloped towards the base of the 
hill and occupied a space, in round numbers, eight feet 
long, three feet high, and a foot and a half wide. In 
other words, there were thirty-six cubic feet of rock 
fairly honeycombed by the series of galleries and storied 
chambers. All this was not only dug away hut was car¬ 
ried through the interlacing galleries, up the central 
gangway, and dumped around the gate. It is a busy 
underground scene that one’s fancy calls up, not wholly 
free from that marvel which in primitive ages simple- 
minded men were wont to couple with mining works 
and miners, and evoke therefor the aid of gnomes and 
the “ swart faery of the mine.” 

However, it was not the wonders of the architecture 
that gave chief zest to this search. As the chisel, deftly 
wielded, uncovers this large room, a rare scene is in 
view. The vaulted roof is headed with rich, amber- 
colored spheres, from beneath which protrude the yellow 
trunks and legs of living insects. These are the honey 
hearers, whose round abdomens, with their stores of 
sweets, have made their species famous among the em¬ 
met tribes. As the light breaks in — the first these 
cavernous halls have ever known — a faint wave of 
movement stirs throughout the compact group of 
“ linked sweetness.” The shock of the incoming sun¬ 
shine and the confusion that has seized and scattered so 
many of their fellows, as their habitation crumbles 
about them, do not cause them to loose their hold upon 
their perch. It could hardly he by chance that the roof 
to which they cling has been left rough and gritty, in¬ 
stead of being smoothed off as are the galleries. At least, 
so it is, and the fact aids the rotunds to keep their place. 

The author has somewhat Anticipated. When the de- 


192 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


lightful vision of one of those vaulted storerooms, with 
its roof crowded with honey hearers, had located and 
identified their nests, the first question that arose was: 
Whence do the ants get their honey ? The theory that 
the rotunds “ elaborated ” it was dismissed as a vain 
imagination. It was plain enough that they must be 
sedentary creatures and that the bulk of the store within 
their immense abdomens must have come from the 
workers, the true honey gatherers. Of these there were 
three castes, the majors, minors, and minims, or dwarfs. 

But whence do these workers get their supply ? From 
the aphids, of course! Here experience failed to he a 
true guide, for in the whole vicinage there was not an 
aphis found. Even the wild rose bushes, which there 
abounded, were barren of these familiar emmet herds. 
In sooth, neither aphids nor ants were found on our 
first day’s search among the near-by shrubbery. The 
nests were as silent and apparently as empty of life as 
cemeteries. Throughout the day nothing living moved 
about them but the circle of sentinels that kept cease¬ 
less guard just within the gate. 

As this implied a nocturnal habit, a nest convenient 
to our tent was chosen for observation, and nightfall was 
awaited. The sun set at 7.30 o’clock, and the Garden 
began to darken, although the snowy summit of Pikes 
Peak was still aglow. Then a few ants appeared. They 
advanced to the top of the crater; they were followed by 
others, who swarmed upon it. They pushed out upon 
the graveled slopes of the mound, the upper part of 
which was soon covered with yellow insects moving rest¬ 
lessly to and fro. There were no rotunds or semirotunds 
among these mustering squadrons; all were workers with 
normal abdomens. 

Presently an ant left the mound and started over the 


ANTS 


193 


ridge northward. Another — several — a score fol¬ 
lowed. Soon a long column trailed along the ridge. It 
was so dark that it could he traced only by stooping 
close thereto; and a lantern had to be used. 

Fifty feet from the nest the column descended the 
slope and entered a copse of scrub oak, within which 
most of the ants were lost at once. A few were traced to 
a bush several feet within the thicket, but their secret 
was not unraveled that night. The next night also we 
were baffled. On the third night the ants were again 
out at the pale of day and began to move at once, but 
at a slower pace, perhaps because the scent upon the 
track had been weakened by a heavy rain during the 
afternoon. There was no acknowledged leader. A 
dwarf worker held the van over most of the way; then 
a minor pushed to the front. But there was no proof 
of actual leadership at any time in any part of the line. 

In seventeen minutes the ants reached a low tree or 
bush and were soon distributed over it. Their forms 
could be traced hunting trunk, branches, and leaves, but 
it was nearly three hours before the object of their 
search was found. This delay will not seem unreason¬ 
able if the reader will picture the observer wedged in 
among thick, low branches of a dwarf oak, holding up 
a lantern with one hand and using the other to clear 
space for it, keeping motionless lest he alarm the timid 
insects and again fail of his quest. In the course of 
these slow investigations the end of a branch was reached 
upon which were a number of ants hovering around 
clusters of brownish-red galls. They moved from gall 
to gall, not tarrying long upon any one, and often 
touched them with their mouths. That was all that 
could be seen in the dim light at the distance one must 
keep. But it was enough. The secret was out! For 


194 


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even in the feeble lantern light, as it played among the 
branches, the ants’ abdomens were seen to he swollen 
by the sweets which they had lapped. 

With an assistant’s aid the branch was cut off with¬ 
out disturbing the workers, and was carried to the tent, 
and braced up within a pail of water to hinder the ants’ 
escape. But they made little effort to leave, so intent 
were they upon their honey gathering. They were kept 
in view during the rest of the night, and thus — and by 
many like experiments that followed — appeared the 
object of their nocturnal forays and the present source 
of honey-supply. What was it? 

Some of the galls exuded minute globules of a white, 
transparent, saccharine liquid, which the ants greedily 
lapped. This sugary sap issued from the several points 
upon the gall, which in some cases became headed with 
six or more droplets. During the night one gall would 
yield at least three series, and this explained the flitting 
of the ants from gall to gall. The successive exudations 
invited frequent returns. Thus in emmet experience 
our proverb “ as bitter as gall ” must needs he modified; 
and for them also the well of Mara 11 became a fount 
of sweetness. 

Some gall-bearing twigs were put into the artificial 
nests. They received no attention. This led to more 
careful selection, and twigs having bleeding galls were 
introduced. These were instantly attacked and cleaned 
of their beaded sweets. Examination explained this dif¬ 
ference in behavior. The favored galls were livid and 
greenish in color and soft in texture. They contained 
the immature forms of a gallfly, Cynips quercus- 
mellaria. The neglected galls were all hard and of a 
darker color, with a circular hole near the base through 
11 Ruth, i, 20. 


ANTS 


195 


which the mature gallfly had escaped. The galls were 
all small, the largest being three-eighths of an inch in 
diameter. Thus our honey ants were shown to he gar¬ 
nering the nectar of galls whose flow was probably 
stimulated by the trituration 12 of gallfly larvae. 

The ant honey stored within the rotunds has an aro¬ 
matic flavor suggestive of bee honey, and is agreeable to 
the taste. An analysis made by a competent chemist, 
of the product of the Mexican species showed a nearly 
pure solution of sugar of fruits differing from grape 
sugar in not crystallizing. The Mexicans and Indians 
have, or had at the period of these studies, several uses 
for the ant honey. They ate it freely. The late Pro¬ 
fessor Cope, when in New Mexico, had a plate of rotunds 
offered him as a dainty relish. Dr. Loew reported that 
the Mexicans press the insects and use the honey at their 
meals. They were also said to prepare from it by fer¬ 
mentation an alcoholic drink. Another naturalist 
learned that the natives apply it to bruised and swollen 
limbs. 

It has been suggested seriously that these ants might 
by culture attain the rank of bees as honey producers. 
The difficulty of farming the colonies and the limited 
quantity of the product would prevent a profitable in¬ 
dustry. The average amount of honey in a single rotund 
was by weight about forty grammes, a little over eight 
times that of the ant’s body. But counting the number 
of rotunds in a nest at six hundred — the utmost that 
observation would justify — the entire product would 
be only two-thirds of a pound troy, collected at the cost 
of all the honey bearers’ lives. Such results disbar these 
insects from the field of human industry. 

Let us go back to the home nest. The time chosen 

12 Movements. 


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for the foragers’ exode was in all colonies the same, 
about sunset at 7.30 p.m. Always there remained a 
large force, some of whom were seen at all hours of the 
night on guard around the gate and patrolling the 
mound, even pushing their pickets beyond. The return 
home began about midnight and continued until the 
dayspring, between four and five o’clock. The in¬ 
comers were challenged by the sentries, who guarded 
the approach with military vigilance. The antennal 
countersign was always exacted. One could not but 
wonder, as he saw the sharp arrest and the crossed anten¬ 
nae, how keen must he the sense — the homologue, 
doubtless, of smell — by which recognition was made. 
As it is in human industries, there were plainly degrees 
of success among the returning workers, for some came 
with well-laden abdomens, and others scantily provided. 
ATor did size determine the measure of success, for some 
of the best-filled honey bags were borne by the dwarf 
workers. 

It had been assumed that the function of the rotunds 
was that of a storeroom, a provision against a time of 
need for the family dependents. But the naturalist, 
while knowing the value of analogy and of circumstan¬ 
tial evidence, must seek “ the sensible and true avouch 
of his own eyes.” This was not easily had, although 
observations continued for more than four months on 
artificial nests taken from Colorado to the author’s 
home. However, some progress was made. 

It was proved that foraging workers, to which caste 
the rotunds belong, when returning as “ repletes,” were 
tolled by the sentinels and watchers. There was no such 
general levy of octoroi 13 as seen at the gate of the 
mound-making ants, but enough to show that the habit 

13 A tax levied at the gate of French cities on provisions or supplies. 


ANTS 


197 


was well fixed. From a gall-covered branch occupied 
by foragers a minim was laid upon ber nest. Sbe was 
much flustered and failed at first to recognize that an 
unknown power, like the jinn of eastern story, had 
borne her through the air to her own door. The watch¬ 
ers also showed surprise at so unorthodox an advent. 
But appetite quickly silenced speculation, and two 
dwarfs and a minor arrested the newcomer, and took 
toll from her mouth of the syrup with which her crop 
was charged. A worker major put upon the mound was 
similarly treated. 

That the workers are fond of the honey which the 
rotunds carry was seen while excavating a nest. Some 
of the tense abdomens were accidentally ruptured. The 
excitement that racked the formicary, the martial ire 
and fervor to assail a foe, the instinct to save larvae, 
pupae, and other dependents, were suspended in the 
presence of this tempting delicacy, and amid the ruins 
of their home the workers clustered around their unfor¬ 
tunate comrade and greedily lapped the sweets from the 
honey-moistened spot. It was a pitiful sight, and noted 
to the disparagement of the ants, until the observer re¬ 
membered that human beings have displayed equal greed 
and ignoble self-gratification amid their country’s 
wreck. 

Over against this one may put a fact apparently more 
to the credit of our melligers. From time to time the 
rotunds died in their artificial nests. The bodies hung 
to their perch for days ere the death grip relaxed and 
they fell. Sometimes the attendant workers failed to 
note the change for a day or more, and caressed and 
cleansed them with wonted care. When they perceived 
the truth and set about to remove the body, the abdomen 
was first severed from the thorax. Then the parts were 


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taken to the “ cemetery/ 7 that common dumping ground 
for the dead which ants often maintain. The abdo¬ 
mens, with their tempting contents, were never violated. 
The amber globes were pulled up steep galleries, rolled 
along rooms, and bowled into the graveyard along with 
juiceless heads, legs, and trunks. Did this spring from 
an instinctive sentiment by which nature protects the 
living honey bearer? At least, the workers seemed to 
draw a line between the use of the honey when exposed 
by accident and when held intact within the abdomens 
of the rotunds, whether living or dead. Was this an 
accidental incident or is it a specific trait ? 

That workers within the formicary feed from the 
rotunds as they do from repletes at the gates was seen in 
the artificial nests. Here is an example noted and 
sketched. The rotund stood with her head erect, her 
body elevated upon her legs at an angle of 45°, and 
regurgitated a drop of honey, which hung to the mouth 
parts. This was received by a major, who stood op¬ 
posite and in like posture, and by a minim that stood 
almost erect and stretched up from below. Another 
major, attracted to the banquet, got her share by reach¬ 
ing over the hack of the first worker and thrusting her 
mouth into the common “ dish. 77 

It added something to the inquiry that rotunds hold 
the place of dependents. The workers plainly rank 
them with the queen, virgin females, males, and larvae. 
They were not fed, for their full crops guaranteed them 
against possible hunger. But the workers hovered about 
them as they hung upon the roof, cleansing them as 
they did the larvae. In natural sites, when the honey 
rooms were broken open and rotunds disturbed from 
their perches, workers of all castes ran eagerly to them 
and dragged them into the unbroken interior. Some- 


ANTS 


199 


times several united in removing one rotund. A single 
major was seen dragging a rotund by interlocked man¬ 
dibles up the perpendicular face of a cutting, backing up 
tbe steep with her bulky protege. Thus the behavior of 
the active class of the commune showed that honey 
bearers are classed with dependents and receive care 
which cannot well be accounted for save by value at¬ 
tached to their stored food. 

Hoping to prove beyond doubt the functions of honey 
bearers, a number were placed along with workers in a 
nest, and all denied food. Some water was given, but 
otherwise their fast was unbroken for over four months. 
The plan was to force workers by hunger to go to their 
living storerooms. But the perverse melligers made the 
rotunds’ lodgings within the heart of the nest, and no 
strategy could lure them into view. Yet during four 
months the workers, whose movements were observable, 
were in perfect health and in good condition. Indeed, 
they seemed more vigorous than their congeners in other 
nests, who were regularly fed. When the formicary 
was opened, the survivors looked more like foragers re¬ 
turning from a banquet of oak-gall nectar than the vic¬ 
tims of a four-months’ fast. The rotunds, too, were 
in good health; and, oddly enough, their abdomens, 
though somewhat diminished, seemed to have been but 
sparingly tapped ! The complement of this experiment, 
a nest of workers alone, also denied food, came to an 
untimely end by accident. 

The imprisoned honey ants uncovered many other 
interesting traits; but space permits the record of but 
one more — from the zoologist’s standpoint, perhaps, 
the most interesting of all. Are the rotunds a separate 
caste ? The question has often been asked, and the facts 
as observed require a negative. Ho sign of a separate 


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caste appeared among the cocoons or callows. Accurate 
body measurements showed no difference between the 
workers and the honey bearers except in the distended 
abdomen. The conclusion was reached that the workers- 
major for the most part, and sometimes the minors, 
grow into rotunds by gradual distension of the crop and 
expansion of the abdomen. 


BIRDS 1 


by J. Arthur Thomson 

Professor J. Arthur Thomson is a noted British zoologist, 
who has taught for many years at the University of Aberdeen. 
He was born in 1861, in East Lothian, Scotland, and was edu¬ 
cated at the Universities of Edinburgh, Jena, and Berlin. Pro¬ 
fessor Thomson has written many books of a scientific nature 
and has done much to make science understandable to people 
who are not scientifically trained. He lives and works in the 
“ gray granite city,” Aberdeen, in a city house with a charm¬ 
ing garden hidden behind it. 

M ILLIONS of years ago the evolution of birds 
from a reptilian stock began. ... At first sight 
it is not easy to see any resemblance between birds and 
reptiles, the one group warm-blooded, conspicuously ac¬ 
tive, and gloriously beautiful; the other cold-blooded, 
often sluggish, but perhaps also beautiful in their way. 
What kinship can there be between the falcon in the 
sky and the lizard on the wall? The student of com¬ 
parative anatomy answers that the evidences of simi¬ 
larity are overwhelming: bone by hone the two creatures 
are built up on a plan that is certainly to a very great 
extent the same, however much the final products may 
he modified and adapted. Without much preliminary 
study of anatomical structure, these points might he 
difficult to apprehend and appreciate, and we cannot 
discuss them here; we must accept the verdict of the ex¬ 
perts and admit that birds are the descendants of a rep- 
1 From The Outline of Science, Vol. II. Putnam, 1922. 


202 


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tilian stock — not necessarily of any present-day group 
of reptiles, but ratber of a common ancestor in tbe im¬ 
mensely remote past. Just one simple point of simi¬ 
larity between tbe two groups may be mentioned, tbe 
fact that both lay eggs, and eggs which are indeed 
closely alike in several respects. 


The Dawn of Bird-Life 

We may imagine tbe ancestral forms as small lizard¬ 
like animals, making tbe first beginnings of tbe kind 
of life which we see to great perfection in tbe birds of 
today. Real power of flight would at first be absent 
among these early ancestors, but we may think of it as 
foreshadowed by a great power of leaping from branch 
to branch in the trees of the primeval forest, where 
these far-off ancestors of our birds had taken refuge 
from their terrestrial enemies. We may picture them 
as making the most of their arboreal haunt, probably 
using holes in the tree trunks in which to hide and to 
lay their eggs and gradually developing a greater and 
greater agility in moving about above ground in search 
of food and in escape from such enemies as were still 
able to molest them. 

This mode of life would tend, generation after genera¬ 
tion, to produce strong propelling hind limbs, together 
with fore limbs, armed with hooklike claws useful fur 
taking hold at the end of each jump and for more leis¬ 
urely clambering at other times. The crucial step in the 
evolution of the true bird stock, however, must have 
been the acquisition of powers of real flight. At an 
early stage, the fore limbs would be held out sideways 
during each leap, and later the surface area would be¬ 
come enlarged by the development of a fold of skin be- 


BIRDS 


203 


tween each of these limbs and the body. Later yet this 
fold would become still more important, and its area 
would be still further increased by the transformation 
of its covering scales into some primitive form of 
feather. Longer and longer leaps would become pos¬ 
sible, from branch to branch and from tree to tree, as 
these aids to gliding flight improved. Finally, the last 
great step would be taken when a beginning was made 
of the active use of the primitive wings to prolong still 
further, until at last indefinitely, the distances possible 
by leaping and gliding alone. 

It is a curious history, this tale of the origin of birds. 
In the first place we seem to see the earliest ancestors 
as a feeble reptilian race driven from the ground and 
taking refuge among the branches. There followed ages 
of arboreal life during which the great adaptation of 
flight originated and was made perfect. Then came a 
day when the new race of birds, fortified with the great 
advantage of mastery of the air, spread abroad from 
the forests — to reconquer the ground level, to find 
their bread upon the waters, to cross the seas to distant 
isles, and to defy the rigors of climate by their ability 
to “ change their season in a night.” So today we have 
birds peopling the whole earth and filling every land 
with the abundant beauty of their plumage and their 
song, and with the immense wonder of their eager, 
spirited lives. 

Flightless Birds 

It is a strange side issue, too, to find that the price¬ 
less gift of flight has not always been preserved. Over 
and over again since the reconquest of the ground level, 
there have been birds which have discarded the faculty 
which was the making of their race; over and over again, 


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also, they have paid the extreme penalty. Sometimes 
size and strength, sometimes an aquatic life, sometimes 
an island home has been the factor giving security in 
place of flight, but with new conditions the exchange has 
frequently proved to be unfortunate*, too often, in re¬ 
cent cases, the new condition has been the advent of 
modern man and his civilization. 

Several flightless species are indeed numbered among 
the birds which have become extinct within historic 
times. Among the Maoris of New Zealand there was 
a traditional knowledge of a giant running bird which 
they called “ moa,” hut which they had exterminated 
before the arrival of white men; from the hones and 
other remains which have been found in some quantity 
the birds appear to have been large members of the 
ostrich tribe, one species standing twelve feet in height. 
A related bird of similar history was the sepyornis of 
Madagascar, which forms the subject of the delight¬ 
fully imaginative story by Mr. H. Gr. Wells. This bird 
is sometimes identified with the legendary “ roc ” of the 
Arabian Nights ; not only its remains but also its eggs 
have been found, and an egg in the British Museum 
(Natural History) measures more than thirteen inches 
in length and nine and one-half in breadth. 

The Dodo 

“ Extinct as the dodo ” has become a proverbial ex¬ 
pression. The saying refers to a bird allied to the 
pigeons, about the size of a swan, and of clumsy and un¬ 
couth appearance. It was quite flightless and lived 
in security in Mauritius until the island was visited 
by Dutch sailors in the sixteenth century. The hogs 
which these men brought with them were largely re- 


BIRDS 


205 


sponsible for tlie subsequent rapid extermination of tbe 
birds, and now tbe dodo is known only from some re¬ 
mains in museums and from tbe quaint drawings and 
descriptions of tbe early voyagers. 

The Ostrich Tribe 

Among tbe birds of tbe present day, tbe ostrich tribe 
and tbe penguins are tbe principal examples of Sight¬ 
lessness. Tbe ostrich and its kin are for tbe most part 
birds of large size possessing a soft, bairlike plumage, 
diminutive wings, and strong legs; they are capable 
of running at great speed across open country and also 
of kicking with suddenness and force. Their breast¬ 
bones lack the pronounced “ keel ” which is so notice¬ 
able in most birds and which serves for tbe attachment 
of tbe great muscles for working tbe wings in flight. 
Best known, of course, is tbe African ostrich, now be¬ 
ing domesticated by man for the sake of its plumes, but 
there are also several kinds of American ostriches or 
rheas in South America, and of cassowaries and emus in 
Australasia. Unlike their fellows are the kiwis of Uew 
Zealand, birds of no great size, timid and nocturnal in 
habit; their long beaks and their hairlike plumage 
combine to give an exceedingly quaint appearance, and 
there are no visible wings. 

Penguins 

The penguins are rather a different case, for their 
wings have by no means fallen into disuse; they have 
become, instead, adapted for swimming. There are 
many different kinds, but all belong to the southern 
hemisphere, and most of them to the far south. Many 
Antarctic explorers have brought back tales of their 


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life, but it is to Dr. Murray Levick, who was with the 
Terra Nova in 1910, that we owe one of the best ac¬ 
counts, relating particularly to the Adelie penguin. 
These flightless birds will return “ oyer hundreds of 
miles of trackless sea,” to the same “ rookeries,” year 
after year to breed. Dr. Levick describes how the first 
penguin arrived at the 11 rookery ” at Cape Adare to¬ 
wards the middle of October, the southern spring, and 
how four days later the birds were coming in across 
the still unbroken sea ice in such numbers that they 
formed a line stretching northward as far as the eye 
could see; within a month the colony was some three- 
quarters of a million strong. 

The Adelie penguin bnilds a large nest of stones, the 
only material available, and the uses of this are evident 
when the thaw comes and the ground is covered with 
water and slush. In this nest two large eggs are laid, 
and one of the parents goes off to the sea to feed while 
the other remains to incubate. The bird which leaves 
may be away for a week or ten days, and the other may 
therefore not break its fast for as much as four weeks 
in all. 

“ I know of no other creature,” says Mr. Herbert Gr. 
Ponting, “ from which man may learn a finer lesson 
of how resolution and steadfastness may overcome every 
difficulty than from the Adelie penguin.” Their bravery 
is amazing; no blizzard, however violent, will drive 
these birds from their nests in the wild Antarctic regions. 
Mr. Ponting relates that they are found sitting on their 
nests buried deep in the snow. Wondering where the 
birds had disappeared to after a blizzard, he set out to 
investigate. “ As I was struggling about, wondering 
whether my penguin investigations had come to an 
abrupt end, I was almost ‘ scared out of my life ’ by a 


BIRDS 


207 


muffled squawk, and felt something wriggling under 
my foot. I had stepped on the hack of a sitting penguin 
— buried nearly two feet deep in the snow. As the 
victim struggled out, loudly protesting its wrath at this 
outrage, we were convulsed with laughter; then, roused 
by our noisy mirth, scores of black heads, with ‘ golly- 
wog ? eyes, suddenly protruded from the snow — to see 
what all the fuss was about. That was how we dis¬ 
covered them! They had not deserted the place; hut 
were attending to their domestic duties under the snow, 
patiently waiting for it to blow away. There were 
penguins everywhere; it was impossible to walk with¬ 
out stepping on them.” 

The penguins are fond of all manner of amusements; 
leaving their young under the protection of a few of 
the old birds, most of the parents go off to disport them¬ 
selves on the ice or in the water. “ They will string out 
behind a leader and make for the near ice floes, the 
party sometimes porpoising along the water, then tobog¬ 
ganing over the ice. They followed in a line behind 
the leader, doing exactly as he did. The fun became fast 
and furious, and I suppose they got a hit winded, for 
after a while the courier gave them a rest. Following 
his lead, they sprang on to an ice raft; then, still imi¬ 
tating his example, they settled down on their breasts 
and basked awhile in the sunshine, prior to doing a few 
more laps. That they all thoroughly enjoyed the game, 
there could he no possible doubt.” 

The emperor penguin is the largest species and may 
stand over four feet high. Unlike the Adelie it nests, 
or rather lays its single egg, on the sea ice itself, and 
it is remarkable for breeding in midwinter. 


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The Emperor Penguin 

Incubation lasts for as much as six or seven weeks, but 
the task is shared, not only by both parents but by the 
strangely large number of barren birds living in the 
colony. The chick has the rather doubtful advantage 
of a number of foster-parents all desirous of par¬ 
ticipating in its care, a strange condition of things which 
was well described by Dr. A. E. Wilson, who after¬ 
ward shared Scott’s tragic fate on the return journey 
from the pole: “ What we actually saw, again and again, 
was the wild dash made by a dozen adults, each weigh¬ 
ing anything up to ninety pounds, to take possession of 
any chicken that happened to find itself deserted on the 
ice. It can be compared to nothing better than a foot¬ 
ball ‘ scrimmage 9 in which the first bird to seize the 
chick is hustled and worried on all sides while it rapidly 
tries to push the infant between its legs with the help of 
its pointed beak, shrugging up the loose skin of the abdo¬ 
men the while to cover it. That no great care is taken to 
save the chick from injury is obvious from an examina¬ 
tion of the dead ones lying on the ice. All had rents and 
claw marks in the skin, and we saw this not only in the 
dead but in the living. The chicks are fully alive to 
the inconvenience of being fought for by so many clumsy 
nurses, and I have seen them not only make the best 
use of their legs in avoiding such attentions, but re¬ 
main to starve and freeze in preference to being nursed. 
Undoubtedly, I think that of the 77 per cent that die 
before they shed their down, quite half are killed by 
kindness.” 

Elying Birds 

With this strange and rather terrible picture of the 
early life of the emperor penguin amid the rigors of the 


BIRDS 


209 


Antarctic climate and on the naked ice of the frozen 
sea, we may turn from flightless to flying birds. The 
flightless birds, indeed, represent digressions from the 
main line of descent and cannot be regarded as stages 
in the evolution of modern flying birds from the ancient 
forms which first mastered flight in the forests of 
long ago. 

Birds share with mammals the distinction of being 
u warm-blooded,” that is to say, having a high and con¬ 
stant body temperature independent of surrounding 
conditions. We may take this as an index of a high de¬ 
gree of vitality and of an advanced position in the 
evolutionary scale, and we shall find indeed many other 
features which lead towards the same conclusion. Birds 
are noteworthy for alertness of mind and body, for 
quickness of movement, and for their mastery of the 
air. They have highly developed habits and complex 
instincts; they are in turn combative, amatory, parental, 
cunning in pursuit and escape, and in very many cases 
there is a surpassing beauty of plumage and voice which 
compels our intense admiration. 

“ Beast ” is one of those words of variable and con¬ 
fused sense which drive men of science to use a lan¬ 
guage of their own; but the term “ bird ” scarcely 
needs to he defined, for its everyday meaning is also 
scientifically accurate. This fact may perhaps he at¬ 
tributed to the existence of certain very distinctive 
characteristics common to all birds, and to a large meas¬ 
ure of uniformity in general appearance among the 
nearly twenty thousand different species which are 
known to science; there are, it is true, wide differences 
in size, in coloration, and in manner of life, hut there 
are no gross divergences in form comparable to those 
found, for instance, among mammals — between the 


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tiger and tlie goat, the kangaroo and the elephant, or the 
bat and the whale. 

This distinctiveness and this uniformity may both be 
accounted for in one word — flight. The whole body of 
the bird is adapted to this habit of flying. The bird’s 
skeleton is a wonderful study from this point of view, 
but here it will suffice to mention the external features. 
Flight has brought with it feathers, and these are a 
unique feature: All birds have feathers, and nothing 
that is not a bird possesses any trace of them. Further¬ 
more, the function of flight has secured a virtual 
monopoly over the fore limbs, and it has thus brought 
two other striking adaptations in its train — a bird is of 
necessity a biped, walking on its two hind limbs, and 
its mouth has had to take the place of a hand, thus 
leading to the evolution of a long flexible neck, and of 
a hard beak which is often wonderfully adapted to the 
feeding habits of the particular species. 


The Flight of Birds 

Birds are, of course, true heavier-than-air machines, 
and in former days man used to strive to learn their 
secret for the purpose of the flying machines which his 
heart desired; but within the last few years the main 
physical principles of the airplane have become so 
familiar that we may perhaps reverse the process by 
using them in the description of our present problem! 
Just as gliders preceded airplanes, so gliding flight may, 
as we have seen, have been the beginning of the mastery 
of the air in the case of birds; and it is in gliding that 
the artificial machine and the bird are most alike. In 
both cases advantage is taken of the resistance of the 
air and of the consequent upward tendency imparted to 


BIRDS 


211 


a body moving horizontally and having a flat inclined 
undersurface. 

When we come to active flight a difference is at once 
obvious: the airplane propellers supply a motive force 
independently of the planes, while in the bird the wings 
are both propellers and planes at the same time. There 
is, indeed, a further difference in that the airplane’s 
propellers, during level flight at least, exert force purely 
in a horizontal direction, the lifting force being wholly 
due, as in gliding, to air resistance. In the bird the 
wing strokes themselves supply part of the lifting power, 
as well as propelling the body forward. ISTor must we 
forget the bird’s tail, which plays a part in steering 
and balancing as in the case of the airplane rudder; it 
is also often used as a brake, without which many a 
swiftly pouncing bird of prey would be apt to dash 
itself to destruction on the ground. 


Speed and Altitude 

The aviators of today compete to establish records 
for speed, for endurance, and for altitude. How do 
birds stand in these respects ? As regards speed, in the 
first place one must remember the difference between 
“ ground speed” and “ air speed.” Both the airplane 
and the bird can, for a certain expenditure of power, 
attain a certain velocity in the body of air in which 
they are, but the velocity as measured from the ground 
may be a very different thing. Thus an airplane travel¬ 
ing at one hundred miles per hour in a twenty miles per 
hour wind may seem from the ground to be going at one 
hundred and twenty miles or at eighty miles per hour, 
accordingly as it flies with or against the air stream; so 
also, of course, with the bird. All our speed records of 


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birds, except a few made from airplanes, are necessarily 
in terms of ground speed, and in many cases the par¬ 
ticulars necessary for a wind correction are unhappily 
wanting. 

What are some of the actual figures ? The available 
evidence has recently been summarized by Colonel 
Meinerzhagen, with special reference to speed during 
migration; he concludes that a bird has an ordinary 
pace, which is the one used in migratory flight, and 
an accelerated pace of which it is capable for a short 
distance under stress of danger or in other special cir¬ 
cumstances. Here are some of his figures: carrier 
pigeons, 30-36 miles per hour (over 60 has been re¬ 
corded, but possibly only with a strong favorable wind) ; 
crows, 31-45; small songbirds, 20-37; starlings, 38-49; 
ducks, 44-59; he also quotes the case of a flock of swifts 
flying at 6000 feet above Mosul, in Mesopotamia, which 
in their ordinary flight easily outpaced the observer’s 
airplane when it was doing 68 miles per hour. The air 
speed of this astonishing flyer is, when accelerated, 
probably well over 100 miles an hour. 

As regards altitude, it seems that, although birds 
have occasionally been recorded as high as 15,000 feet, 
they are indeed rarely met with above 5000 feet, while 
the greater part of flight, including migration, probably 
takes place within 3000 feet of the ground. 

The power of flight has given birds the key to one 
kind of habitat after another that might otherwise have 
proved to be too dangerous or too inhospitable. To the 
conditions of these different haunts and, in particular, 
to different modes of procuring food, we see a great 
wealth of adaptations; there are hunters and fishers, 
catchers of insects and harvesters of seeds, eaters of 
crustaceans and eaters of worms, plant eaters and honey 


BIRDS 


213 


suckers, scavengers of carrion, and many a “ picker up 
of unconsidered trifles. . . .” 


Social Life 

It has to be confessed that we have a great deal to 
learn about the inner life of birds. It is difficult to get 
mentally in touch with them; they have evolved on a dif¬ 
ferent plane from our own. Our sense of kinship with 
animals is still something novel, hut it is ever widening 
and deepening as we view it more closely and with 
clearer vision: may we not claim this as one of the steps 
in the progress of evolution ? 

With birds, as with mammals, there are many phases 
of social life. Some species of birds are more social in 
their relationship than others; in some there is a more 
advanced state of community than others. With in¬ 
dividuals there may exist mutual friendship; com¬ 
panionship between two birds of the same species, or 
even between birds of different species, is often seen. 

The helping instinct is characteristic in birds as in 
other animals; it is often touchingly humanlike. We 
see it most often in parental care and in the feeding 
of each other by the sexes, but it is shown frequently 
in other ways. Mr. W. H. Hudson, speaking of the 
military starling of the pampas — a bird of social dis¬ 
position — tells this story: “ One day I was sitting on 
my horse watching a flock feeding and traveling in 
their leisurely manner, when I noticed a little dis¬ 
tance behind the others a bird sitting motionless on 
the ground and two others keeping close to it, one on 
each side. These two had finished examining the 
ground and prodding at the roots of the grass at the 
spot and were now anxious to go forward and rejoin 


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the company, hut were held hack by the other one. On 
my going to them they all flew up and on, and I then 
saw that the one that had hung hack had a broken 
leg. Perhaps it had not been long broken, and he had 
not yet accommodated himself to the changed condi¬ 
tions in which he had to get about on the ground and 
find his food. I followed and found that, again and 
again, after the entire scarlet-breasted army had moved 
on, the lame bird remained behind, his two impatient 
but faithful companions still keeping with him. They 
would not fly until he flew; and when on the wing still 
kept their places at his side, and on overtaking the 
flock all three would drop down together.” As Mr. 
Hudson says, it is possible to mistake for friendship 
an action which, at all events in its origin, is of a 
different nature. Instances of such altruistic behavior, 
to be attributed to the helping instinct in animals of 
social habits, are common. . . . 

With birds, as with other animals, we see, as we do 
in human beings, that some individuals are gifted above 
others of their kind. A few have a keener sense, 
greater strength or power of leadership, a more help¬ 
ful spirit than their fellows. This counts for much 
in a social state. “ The action of the gander and trum¬ 
peter in driving their fellows home in the evening must 
be regarded as similar in its origin to that of the male 
swift, when he hunts his mate back to the nest; and 
of the sand martin I observed chasing the females of 
the colony to their burrows. In a lesser way it may 
be seen in any flock of birds; they move about in such 
an orderly manner, springing, as it appears to us, si¬ 
multaneously into the air, going in a certain direc¬ 
tion, settling here or there to feed, presently going to 
another distant feeding ground or alighting to rest or 


BIRDS 


215 


sing on trees and bushes, as to produce the idea of a 
single mind. But the flock is not a machine; the minds 
are many; one bird gives the signal — the one who is 
a little better in his keener senses and quicker intelli¬ 
gence than his companions; his slightest sound, his 
least movement is heard and seen and understood and 
is instantly and simultaneously acted upon.” 


BIRD MIGRATION 1 

by Wells C. Cooke 

The United States government maintains an executive De¬ 
partment of Agriculture under a secretary, who is a member 
of the President’s cabinet. This department has supervision 
of all business relating to the agricultural and productive 
industries. The work is divided among bureaus, such as the 
Bureau of Animal Industry, Bureau of Plant Industry, Forest 
Service, Bureau of Chemistry, Bureau of Soils, Bureau of En¬ 
tomology, etc. The Bureau of Biological Survey studies the 
geographical distribution of plants and animals, maps the life 
zones of the country, investigates the harm or benefits of 
animals to man and recommends measures to preserve the 
beneficial and to destroy the injurious species. 

This article on bird migration is taken from one of the 
many bulletins issued by the bureau, which are available to 
any one in the United States. In order to study seasonal 
movements of birds, the bureau issues to any one over eight¬ 
een years of age, who wishes to help in such study, tiny metal 
bands, numbered serially. The helpers put out bird traps, 
which cannot injure the birds; and on capturing one, a helper 
places a numbered band gently around the captive’s leg and 
sets it free. If a banded bird is again captured, the number 
is reported to the bureau. Sometimes thousands of miles 
separate the place of banding from the place of recapture. 
Banding dates from the time of Audubon, who, about 1803, 
placed silver threads around the legs of a brood of phcebes. 
He was rewarded the following season by having two of his 
marked birds return. A Bird Banding Association was formed 
in New York in 1900, the work and interest increased until 
in 1920 it was taken over by the Bureau of Biological Survey. 

Mr. Wells C. Cooke is assistant biologist in this bureau. 

1 From Bulletin No. 185, of the United States Department of 
Agriculture, Contribution from the Bureau of Biological Survey, 
April 17, 1915. 


BIRD MIGRATION 


217 


T HE mystery of bird migration bas proved a fas¬ 
cinating subject for speculation and study from 
earliest times. Long ago it was noticed that birds dis¬ 
appeared in fall and reappeared in spring; but not 
knowing where they spent the intervening period, many 
fanciful theories were advanced to account for their 
disappearance, as hibernation in hollow trees or in the 
mud of streams or ponds. Much has been learned in 
these latter days, but much yet remains to be learned; 
and the following is one of the most curious and inter¬ 
esting of the unsolved problems. The chimney swift is 
one of the most abundant and best-known birds of 
eastern United States. With troops of fledglings catch¬ 
ing their winged prey as they go and lodging by night 
in tall chimneys, the flocks drift slowly south, joining 
with other bands until on the northern coast of the 
Gulf of Mexico they become an innumerable host. Then 
they disappear. Did they drop into the water or hiber¬ 
nate in the mud, as was believed of old, their oblitera¬ 
tion could not be more complete. In the last week in 
March a joyful twittering far overhead announces their 
return to the Gulf coast, but their hiding place dur¬ 
ing the intervening five months is still the swifts’ 
secret. . . . 

For more than two thousand years the phenomena of 
bird migration have been noted; but while the extent 
and course of the routes traversed have of late become 
better known, no conclusive answer has been found to 
the question, Why do North American birds migrate? 
Two different and indeed diametrically opposite the¬ 
ories have been advanced to account for the beginnings 
of these migrations. 

According to the more commonly accepted theory, 
ages ago the United States and Canada swarmed with 


218 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


nonmigratory bird life, long before tbe Arctic ice fields 
advancing south during tbe glacial era rendered un¬ 
inhabitable the northern half of the continent. The 
birds’ love of home influenced them to remain near 
the nesting site until the approaching ice began for the 
first time to produce winter — that is, a period of in¬ 
clement weather which so reduced the food supply as 
to compel the birds to move or starve. As the ice ap¬ 
proached very gradually, now and then receding, these 
enforced retreats and absences — at first only a short 
distance and for a brief time — increased both in dis¬ 
tance and duration until migration became an integral 
part of the very being of the bird. In other words, 
the formation of the habit of migration took place at 
the same time that changing seasons in the year re¬ 
placed the continuous semitropical conditions of the 
preglacial eras. 

As the ice advanced southward, the swing to the 
north in spring migration was continually shortened 
and the fall retreat to a suitable winter home corre¬ 
spondingly lengthened, until during the height of the 
glacial period birds were for the most part confined 
to Middle and South America. But the habit of mi¬ 
gration had been formed; and when the ice receded 
toward its present position, the birds followed it north¬ 
ward and in time established their present long and 
diversified migration routes. . . . 

According to the opposite migration theory, the birds’ 
real home is in the southland; all bird life tends by 
overproduction to overcrowding; and at the end of the 
glacial era, the birds, seeking in all directions for suit¬ 
able breeding grounds with less keen competition than 
in their tropical winter home, gradually worked north¬ 
ward as the retreat of the ice made habitable vast 


BIRD MIGRATION 


219 


reaches of virgin country. But the winter abiding 
place was still the home, and to this they returned as 
soon as the breeding season was over. Thus, in the 
case of the orchard oriole, . . . many individuals that 
arrive in southern Pennsylvania the first week in May 
leave by the middle of July, spending only two and 
a half months out of the twelve at the nesting site. 

Whichever theory is accepted, the beginnings of mi¬ 
gration ages ago undoubtedly were intimately connected 
with the periodic changes in the food supply. While 
North America possesses enormous summer supplies of 
bird food, the birds must return south for the winter 
or perish. The overcrowding which would necessarily 
ensue should they remain in the equatorial regions is 
prevented by the spring exodns northward. No such 
movement occurs toward the corresponding southern 
latitudes. South America has almost no migratory 
land birds, for bleak Patagonia and Tierra del Puego 
offer no inducements to these dwellers of the limitless 
forests of the Amazon. 

The conclusion is inevitable that the advantages of 
the United States and Canada as a summer home and 
the superb conditions of climate and food for the suc¬ 
cessful rearing of a nestful of voracious young far 
overbalance the hazards and disasters of the journey 
thither. Por these periodical trips did not just happen 
in their present form; each migration route, however 
long and complex, is but the present stage in develop¬ 
ment of a flight that at first was short, easily accom¬ 
plished, and comparatively free from danger. Each 
lengthening of the course was adopted permanently only 
after experience through many generations had proved 
its advantages. 


220 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Day and Night Migrants 

Some birds migrate by day, but most of them seek 
the cover of darkness. Day migrants include ducks 
and geese (which also migrate by night), hawks, swal¬ 
lows, the nighthawk, and the chimney swift. The last 
two, combining business and pleasure, catch their morn¬ 
ing or evening meal during a zigzag flight that tends 
in the desired direction. The daily advance of such 
migrants covers only a few miles; and when a large 
body of water is encountered, they pass around rather 
than cross it. The night migrants include all the great 
family of warblers, the thrushes, flycatchers, vireos, 
orioles, tanagers, shore birds, and most of the spar¬ 
rows. They usually begin their flight soon after dark 
and end it before dawn, and go farther before than 
after midnight. 

Ndght migration probably results in more casualties 
from natural causes than would occur if the birds made 
the same journey by day; but on the other hand, there 
is a decided gain in the matter of food supply. Dor 
instance, a bird feeds all day on the north shore of 
the Gulf of Mexico; if, then, it waited until the next 
morning to make its flight across the Gulf in the day¬ 
time it would arrive on the Mexican coast at nightfall 
and would have to wait until the following morning to 
appease its hunger. Thus there would be thirty-six 
consecutive hours without food, whereas by night mi¬ 
gration the same journey can be performed with only 
a twelve hours’ fast. 

Migrating birds do not fly at their fastest. Their 
migration speed is usually from thirty to forty miles 
an hour and rarely exceeds fifty. Flights of a few 
hours at night, alternating with rests of one or more 


BIRD MIGRATION 


221 


days, make the spring advance very slow, averaging 
for all species not more than twenty-three miles a day, 
but with great variations of daily rate among the 
different species. The exact number of miles which a 
particular bird makes during one day’s journey has 
not yet been determined and cannot he ascertained until 
the tagging or banding of birds by means of metal 
rings is carried out on a far more extensive scale than 
has yet been possible. If migration were a steady 
movement northward with the same individuals always 
in the van, numerous careful observations might make 
it possible to approximate the truth; hut instead of this, 
most migrations are performed somewhat after the 
manner of a game of leapfrog. The van in the spring 
migration is composed chiefly of old birds; and as they 
reach their nesting places of the previous year, they 
remain to breed. Thus the vanguard is constantly 
dropping out, and the forward movement must depend 
upon the arrival of the next corps, which may he near 
at hand or far in the rear. Moreover, in our present 
state of knowledge we cannot say whether a given 
group of birds after a night’s migration keeps in the 
van on succeeding nights or rests and feeds for several 
days and allows other groups previously in the rear to 
assume the lead. It is known that birds do not as a 
rule move rapidly when migrating in the daytime, but 
from the meager data available it may he inferred that 
the speed at night is considerably greater. . . . 


Distance of Migration 

The length of the migration journey varies enor¬ 
mously. A few birds, like the grouse, quail, cardinal, 
and Carolina wren are nonmigratory. Many a bob- 


222 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


white rounds out its full period of existence without 
ever going ten miles from the nest where it was hatched. 
Some other species migrate so short a distance that the 
movement is scarcely noticeable. Thus meadowlarks 
are found near New York City all the year, but prob¬ 
ably the individuals nesting in that region pass a little 
farther south for the winter and their places are taken 
by migrants from farther north. Or part of a species 
may migrate and the rest remain stationary, as in the 
case of the pine warbler and the black-headed gros¬ 
beak, which do not venture in winter south of the 
breeding range. With them fall migration is only a 
withdrawal from the northern and a concentration in 
the southern part of the summer home — the warbler 
in about a fourth and the grosbeak in less than an 
eighth of the summer area. In the case of the Mary¬ 
land yellowthroat, the breeding birds of Florida are 
strictly nonmigratory, while in spring and fall other 
yellowthroats pass through Florida in their journeys 
between their winter home in Cuba and their summer 
home in New England. 

Another variation is illustrated by the robin, which 
occurs in the middle districts of the United States 
throughout the year, in Canada only in summer, and 
along the Gulf of Mexico only in winter. Probably no 
individual robin is a continuous resident in any section; 
hut the robin that nests, let us say, in southern Mis¬ 
souri, spends the winter near the gulf, while his hardy 
Canada-bred cousin is the winter tenant of the aban¬ 
doned summer home of the southern bird. 

Most migratory birds desert the entire region occu¬ 
pied in summer for some other district adopted as a 
winter home. These two homes are separated by very 
variable distances. Many species from Canada winter 


BIRD MIGRATION 


223 


in the United States, as the tree sparrow, junco, and 
snowflake; others nesting in northern United States 
winter in the Gulf States, as the chipping, field, Savan¬ 
nah, and vesper sparrows, while more than a hundred 
species leave the United States for the winter and spend 
that season in Central or even in South America. Nor 
are they content with journeying to northern South 
America, hut many cross the Equator and pass on to the 
pampas of Argentina and a few even to Patagonia. 
Among these long-distance migrants are some of our 
commonest birds; the scarlet tanager migrates from 
Canada to Peru; the bobolinks that nest in New Eng¬ 
land probably winter in Brazil, as do purple martins, 
clifl swallows, barn swallows, nighthawks, and some 
thrushes, which are their companions both winter and 
summer. The black-poll warblers that nest in Alaska 
winter in northern South America, at least five thou¬ 
sand miles from the summer home. The land bird with 
the longest migration route is probably the nighthawk, 
which occurs north to Yukon and south, seven thou¬ 
sand miles away, to Argentina. 

But even these distances are surpassed by some of 
the water birds and notably by some of the shore birds, 
which as a group have the longest migration routes of 
any birds. Nineteen species of shore birds breed north 
of the Arctic Circle, every one of which visits South 
America in winter, six of them penetrating to Pata¬ 
gonia, a migration route more than eight thousand 
miles in length. 

The world’s migration champion, however, is the 
arctic tern. It deserves its title of “ arctic,” for it 
nests as far north as land has been discovered; that is, 
as far north as the bird can find anything. stable on 
which to construct its nest. Indeed, so arctic are the 


224 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


conditions under which it breeds that the first nest 
found by man in this region, only l 1 /^ 0 from the pole, 
contained a downy chick surrounded by a wall of newly 
fallen snow that had been scooped out of the nest by 
the parent. When the young are full grown, the entire 
family leaves the Arctic and several months later they 
are found skirting the edge of the Antarctic continent. 

What their track is over that eleven thousand miles of 
intervening space no one knows. A few scattered in¬ 
dividuals have been noted along the United States coast 
south to Long Island, hut the great flocks of thousands 
and thousands of these terns which range from pole 
to pole have never been noted by an ornithologist com¬ 
petent to indicate their preferred route and their time 
schedule. The arctic terns arrive in the far north 
about June 15 and leave about August 25, thus stay¬ 
ing fourteen weeks at the nesting site. They probably 
spend a few weeks longer in the winter than in the 
summer home, and this would leave them scarcely 
twenty weeks for the round trip of twenty-two thou¬ 
sand miles. Hot less than one hundred and fifty miles 
in a straight line must be their daily task, and this is 
undoubtedly multiplied several times by their zigzag 
twistings and turnings in pursuit of food. 

The arctic tern has more hours of daylight and sun¬ 
light than any other animal on the globe. At the most 
northern nesting site the midnight sun has already ap¬ 
peared before the birds’ arrival, and it never sets dur¬ 
ing their entire stay at the breeding grounds. During 
two months of their sojourn in the Antarctic the birds 
do not see a sunset, and for the rest of the time the 
sun dips only a little way below the horizon, and broad 
daylight is continuous. The birds have therefore 
twenty-four hours of daylight for at least eight months 


BIRD MIGRATION 


225 


in the year, and during the other four months have 
considerably more daylight than darkness. 

Routes of Migration 

The shape of the land areas in the northern half of 
the western hemisphere and the nature of the surface 
has tended to great variations in migratory movements. 
If the whole area from Brazil to Canada were a plain 
with the general characteristics of the middle section of 
the Mississippi Valley, the study of bird migration 
would lose much of its fascination. There would he a 
simple rhythmical swinging of the migration pendulum 
back and forth, spring and fall. But much of the 
earth’s surface between Brazil and Canada is occupied 
by the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean Sea, and parts of 
the Atlantic Ocean, all devoid of sustenance for land 
birds. The two areas of abundant food supply are 
North America and northern South America, separated 
by the comparatively small land areas of Mexico and 
Central America, the islands of the West Indies, and 
the great waste stretches of water. 

The different courses taken by the birds to get around 
or over this intervening inhospitable region are almost 
as numerous as the bird families that traverse them, 
and only some of the more important routes will he 
mentioned here. 

Island Routes 

Birds often seem eccentric in choice of route, and 
many do not take the shortest line. The fifty species 
from New England that winter in South America, in¬ 
stead of making the direct trip over the Atlantic involv¬ 
ing a flight of two thousand miles, take a somewhat 
longer route that follows the coast to Florida and passes 


226 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


thence by island or mainland to South America. What 
would at first sight seem to be a natural and convenient 
migratory highway extends from Florida through the 
Bahamas or Cuba to Haiti, Porto Rico, and the lesser 
Antilles, and thence to South America. Birds that 
travel by this route need never he out of sight of land; 
resting places are afforded at convenient intervals, and 
the distance is but little longer than the water route. 
Yet beyond Cuba this highway is little used. About 
twenty-five species continue as far as Porto Rico and 
remain there through the winter. Only adventurers 
of some six species gain the South American mainland 
by completing the island chain. The reason is not far 
to seek — scarcity of food. The total area of all the 
West Indies east of Porto Rico is a little less than that 
of Rhode Island. Should a small proportion only of 
the feathered inhabitants of the eastern states select 
this route, not even the luxuriant fauna and flora of 
the tropics could supply their needs. . . . 

Gulf Routes 

The main-traveled highway is that which stretches 
from northwestern Florida across the gulf, continuing 
the southwesterly direction which most birds of the 
Atlantic coast follow in journeying to Florida. A 
larger or smaller percentage of nearly all the species 
bound for South America take this roundabout course, 
quite regardless of the several-hundred-mile flight over 
the Gulf of Mexico. 

The birds east of the Allegheny Mountains move 
southwest in the fall, approximately parallel with the 
seacoast, and apparently keep this same direction across 
the gulf to eastern Mexico. The birds of the central 
Mississippi Valley go southward to and over the gulf. 


BIRD MIGRATION 


227 


The birds between the Missouri and the edge of the 
plains and those of Canada east of the Rocky Moun¬ 
tains move southeastward and south until they join 
the others in their passage of the gulf. In other words, 
the great majority of North American birds bound for 
a winter’s sojourn in Central or South America elect a 
short cut across the Gulf of Mexico in preference to* 
a longer land journey by way of Florida or Texas. 
In fact, millions of birds cross the gulf at its widest 
part, which necessitates a single flight of five hundred 
to seven hundred miles. It might seem more natural 
for the birds to make a leisurely trip along the Florida 
coast, take a short flight to Cuba, and thence a still 
shorter one of less than one hundred miles to Yucatan 
— a route only a little longer and involving much less 
exposure. Indeed, the earlier naturalists, finding the 
same species both in Florida and Yucatan, took this 
probable route for granted, and for years it has been 
noted in ornithological literature as one of the princi¬ 
pal migration highways of North American birds. As 
a fact, it is almost deserted except for a few swallows, 
some shore birds, and an occasional land bird storm- 
driven from its accustomed course, while over the gulf 
route night after night for nearly eight months in the 
year myriads of hardy migrants wing their way through 
the darkness toward an unseen destination. 

Still farther west are two routes which represent 
land journeys of those birds from western United States 
that winter in- Mexico and Central America. Their 
trips are comparatively short; most of the birds are 
content to stop when they reach the middle districts 
of Mexico, and only a few pass east of the southern 
part of that country. . . . 


228 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


How Bikds Find Theik Way 

How do migrating birds find their way? They do 
not journey haphazard, for the familiar inhabitants 
of our doorway martin boxes will return next year to 
these same boxes, though meanwhile they have visited 
Brazil. If the entire distance were made overland, it 
might be supposed that sight and memory were the 
only faculties exercised. But for those birds that cross 
the Gulf of Mexico, and more especially for the golden 
plover and its ocean-crossing kindred, something more 
than sight is necessary. Among day migrants sight 
probably is the principal guide, but it is noticeable that 
these seldom make the long single flights so common 
with night migrants. 

Sight undoubtedly does play a part in guiding the 
night journeys also. On clear nights, especially when 
the moon shines brightly, migrating birds fly high and 
the ear can scarcely distinguish their faint twitter¬ 
ings; if clouds overspread the heavens the flocks pass 
nearer the earth and their notes are much more audi¬ 
ble; and on very dark nights the flutter of vibrant 
wings may be heard but a few feet overhead. Never¬ 
theless, something besides sight guides these travelers 
of the upper air. In Alaska a few years ago members 
of the Biological Survey on the Harriman Expedition 
went by steamer from the island of Unalaska to Bogos- 
lof Island, a distance of about sixty miles. A dense 
fog shut out every object beyond a hundred yards. 
When the steamer was halfway across, flocks of murres, 
returning to Bogoslof after long quests for food, began 
to break through the fog wall astern, fly parallel with 
the vessel, and disappear in the mists ahead. By chart 
and compass the ship was heading straight for the 


BIRD MIGRATION 


229 


island, but its course was no more exact than that 
taken by the birds. The power which carried them 
unerringly home over the ocean wastes, whatever its 
nature, may be called a “ sense of direction.” We 
recognize in ourselves the possession of some such 
sense, though imperfect and frequently at fault. Doubt¬ 
less a similar but vastly more acute sense enables the 
murres, flying from home and circling wide over the 
water, to keep in mind the direction of their nests and 
return to them without the aid of sight. 

But even the birds’ sense of direction is not infallible. 
Reports from lighthouses in southern Florida show that 
birds leave Cuba on cloudy nights, when they cannot 
possibly see the Florida shores and safely reach their 
destination, provided no change occurs in the weather. 
But at fickle equinoctial time many flocks starting out 
under auspicious skies find themselves suddenly caught 
by a tempest. Buffeted by the wind and their sense of 
direction lost, these birds fall easy victims to the lure 
of the lighthouse. Many are killed by the impact, but 
many more settle on the framework or foundation until 
the storm ceases or the coming of daylight allows them 
to recover their bearings. 

A favorite theory of many American ornithologists 
is that coast lines, mountain chains, and especially the 
courses of the larger rivers and their tributaries form 
well-marked highways along which birds return to pre¬ 
vious nesting sites. According to this theory, a bird 
breeding in northern Indiana would in its fall migra¬ 
tion pass down the nearest little rivulet or creek to the 
Wabash River, thence to the Ohio, and reaching the 
Mississippi would follow its course to the Gulf of 
Mexico, and would use the same route reversed for the 
return trip in the spring. The fact is that each county 


230 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

in the Central States contains nesting birds which at 
the beginning of the fall migration scatter toward half 
the points of the compass; indeed, it would he safe to 
say all points of the compass, as some young herons 
preface their regular journey south with a little pleas¬ 
ure trip to the unexplored north. In fall most of the 
migrant land birds breeding in New England move 
southwest in a line approximately parallel with the 
Allegheny Mountains, hut we cannot argue from this 
that the route is selected so that mountains will serve 
as a guide, because at this very time thousands of 
birds reared in Indiana, Illinois, and to the north¬ 
westward are crossing these mountains at right angles 
to visit South Carolina and Georgia. This is shown 
specifically in the case of the palm warblers. They 
winter in the Gulf States from Louisiana eastward and 
throughout the Greater Antilles to Porto Pico; they 
nest in Canada from the Mackenzie Valley to New¬ 
foundland. To migrate according to the “ lay of the 
land/ 7 the Louisiana palm warblers should follow up 
the broad open highway of the Mississippi River to 
its source and go thence to their breeding grounds, 
while the warblers of the Antilles should use the Alle¬ 
gheny Mountains as a guide. As a matter of fact, the 
Louisiana birds nest in Labrador and those from the 
Antilles cut diagonally across the United States to 
summer in central Canada. These two routes of palm 
warblers cross each other in Georgia at approximately 
right angles. It is possible to trace the routes of the 
palm warblers, because those nesting to the east of 
Hudson Bay differ enough in color from those nest¬ 
ing farther west to he readily distinguished even in 
their winter dress. It must always he remembered, 
however, that from a common ancestry these two groups 


BIRD MIGRATION 


231 


of palm warblers came to differ in appearance, because 
they gradually evolved differences in breeding grounds 
and in migration routes and not that they cbose differ¬ 
ent routes because they were subspecifically different. 

The truth seems to he that birds pay little attention 
to natural physical highways except when large bodies 
of water force them to deviate from the desired course. 
Food is the principal factor in determining migration 
routes, and in general the course between summer and 
winter homes is as straight as the birds can find and 
still have an abundance of food at each stopping place. 

Migration and Molting 

It is interesting to note the relation between migra¬ 
tion and molting. Most birds care for their young 
until ,old enough to look out for themselves, then molt, 
and, when the new feathers are grown, start on their 
southward journey in their new suits of clothes. But 
the birds that nest beyond the Arctic Circle have too 
short a summer to permit such leisurely movements. 
They begin their migration as soon as possible after 
the young are out of the nest and molt en route. In¬ 
deed, these Arctic breeders are so pressed for time that 
many of them do their courting during the period of 
spring migration and arrive at the breeding grounds 
already paired and ready for nest building, while many 
a robin and bluebird in the middle Mississippi Yalley 
has been in the neighborhood of the nesting site a full 
month before it carries the first straw of construction. 

Various peculiar changes of plumage are presented 
by certain species during migration. The young golden 
plovers are white breasted as they fly over the Atlantic 
Ocean in fall. This has given place to jet black as 
they cross the Gulf of Mexico in spring. The bobolink 


232 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


goes south in fall obscurely marked with huff and 
olive; he returns next spring the well-known black and 
white denizen of the marshes. The scarlet tanager per¬ 
forms his fall migration in a suit of uniform greenish 
yellow known to only a small number of his human 
friends, who welcome him as an old acquaintance when 
he returns the next spring in his striking black and 
scarlet. 

* Casualties during Migration 

Migration is a season full of peril for myriads of 
winged travelers, especially for those that cross large 
bodies of water. Some of the water birds making long 
voyages can rest on the waves if overtaken by storms, 
but for the luckless warbler or sparrow whose feathers 
become water-soaked an ocean grave is inevitable. 
NTor are such accidents infrequent. A few years ago 
on Lake Michigan a storm during spring migration 
forced to the waves numerous victims, as evidenced by 
many subsequently drifting ashore. If such mortality 
could occur on a lake less than one hundred miles wide, 
how much more likely even a greater disaster attending 
a flight across the Gulf of Mexico. Such a catastrophe 
was once witnessed from the deck of a vessel thirty 
miles off the mouth of the Mississippi Eiver. Large 
numbers of migrating birds, mostly warblers, had ac¬ 
complished nine-tenths of their long flight and were 
nearing land, when caught by a “ norther/’ with which 
most of them were unable to contend, and falling into 
the gulf they were drowned by hundreds. 

During migration birds are peculiarly liable to de¬ 
struction by striking high objects. The Washington 
Monument, at the national capital, has witnessed the 
death of many little migrants; on a single morning in 
the spring of 1902 nearly one hundred and fifty lifeless 


BIRD MIGRATION 


233 


bodies were strewn around its base. As long as tbe 
torch in the Bartholdi Statue of Liberty in New York 
harbor was kept lighted, the sacrifice of bird life it 
caused was enormous, even reaching a maximum of 
seven hundred birds in a month. 

Every spring the lights of the lighthouses along the 
coast lure to destruction myriads of birds en route 
from their winter homes in the south to their summer 
nesting places in the north. Every fall a still greater 
death toll is exacted when the return journey is made. 
Lighthouses are scattered every few miles along the 
more than three thousand miles of coast line; but two 
lighthouses, Fowey Bocks and Sombrero Key, cause 
far more bird tragedies than any others. The reason 
is twofold — their geographic position and the char¬ 
acter of their lights. Both lights are situated at the 
southern end of Florida, where countless thousands 
of birds pass each year to and from Cuba; and both 
are lights of the first magnitude on towers 100-140 
feet high. Fowey Rocks has a fixed white light, the 
deadliest of all. A flashing light frightens birds away, 
and a red light is avoided by them as would be a danger 
signal, but a steady white light looming out of the 
mist or darkness seems like a magnet drawing the wan¬ 
derers to destruction. Coming from any direction, they 
veer around to the leeward side and then, flying against 
the wind, strike the glass, or more often exhaust them¬ 
selves like moths fluttering in and out of the bewilder¬ 
ing rays. 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 1 

by Theodore Roosevelt 

Theodore Roosevelt is now remembered for so many things 
— his legislative work as President of the United States, his 
zest for the strenuous life, his championship of the “square 
deal,” his work as a naturalist and explorer — that time alone 
will tell which is his greatest and most lasting contribution to 
American life. Because he preferred to “ scorn delights and 
choose laborious days,” he gained time in which to follow 
many sides of life besides his profession. 

He was born in New York City, October 27, 1858, so that 
he was yet a baby when the Civil War began. As a little boy 
he was frail, suffering so from asthma that for years he could 
sleep only in a sitting position. In consequence of his deli¬ 
cate health, he did not go to school regularly and could not 
lead the active life of most boys. When he was nine years 
old, he began his first diary, writing in it regularly for almost 
two whole weeks, then letting it lapse for three days, begin¬ 
ning again, forgetting after two days’ entries, making several 
more attempts, and finally giving it up. His interest in ani¬ 
mals was lifelong, and before he was ten, we see him with his 
brother and two sisters starting “The Roosevelt Museum of 
Natural History ” with some ants, a crayfish, and a few min¬ 
nows. 

By the time Theodore was thirteen, he was so keenly alive 
to natural history that his father allowed him to take some 
lessons in taxidermy, and from that time on his room, even 
when traveling, was always full of live pets and specimens in 
various stages of preservation. When he went to college, he 
determined to overcome his physical weakness; and in spite 
of extreme nearsightedness, he took up boxing, shooting, ten¬ 
nis, and riding, and spent every vacation in the Maine woods 
with a guide, Bill Sewall, who became his lifelong friend. 

1 From Through the Brazilian Wilderness. Scribner. 



THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


235 


After graduating from Harvard, Roosevelt went West to rough 
it, and by sheer determination built up a strong body which 
ever after was “ a good servant ” to him. At the outbreak 
of the Spanish-American War, in 1898, he organized the First 
Volunteer Cavalry, known as the Rough Riders, which did 
good service in the battles of Las Guasimas and San Juan Hill. 
From this time on Roosevelt was a conspicuous figure in our 
national life. He left the governorship of New York to be¬ 
come Vice-president of the United States on March 1, 1901. 
On September 14, President McKinley was assassinated, Roose¬ 
velt thus becoming President, an office to which he was elected 
again in 1904. During his term the United States became a 
world power. 

It was not until Roosevelt was defeated for the presidency 
in 1912 that he had time to devote seriously to natural his¬ 
tory. Then he took an expedition to Africa under the auspices 
of the American Museum of Natural History of New York, 
in search of rare animals. In October, 1913, he was invited 
to speak before several learned societies of South America 
on problems of government in a democracy. He accepted and 
took this opportunity also to carry out an expedition of ex¬ 
ploration and the collection of specimens for the Museum of 
Natural History and for the Brazilian Government. He was 
greeted everywhere by throngs who said of him, “ He speaks the 
truth because he speaks from the heart.” Early in December 
he and his party, including his son Kermit, and Fiala, Cherrie, 
and Miller, naturalists of the museum, left the civilized world 
for the jungles of Brazil, meeting the party of the Brazilian 
expedition, led by Colonel Rondon, on the Paraguay. They 
explored the River of Doubt, where no man had ever gone 
before, adding much to our knowledge of the jungle and the 
animals which inhabit it. The following article is concerned 
with this trip. 

When Roosevelt died in 1919, his son in this country cabled 
to the two who were abroad, “ The Lion is dead.” 

O N" THE afternoon of December 9, we left the attrac¬ 
tive and picturesque city of Asuncion to ascend the 
Paraguay. With generous courtesy the Paraguayan 
Government had put at my disposal the gunboat-yacht 
of the President himself, a most comfortable river 


236 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


steamer, and so the opening days of ouj* trip were pleas¬ 
ant in every way. The food was good, our quarters were 
clean, we slept well below or on deck, usually without our 
mosquito nettings, and in daytime the deck was pleasant 
under the awnings. It was hot, of course, hut we were 
dressed suitably in our exploring and hunting clothes 
and did not mind the heat. The river was low, for 
there had been dry weather for some weeks — judging 
from the vague and contradictory information I re¬ 
ceived there is much elasticity to the terms “ wet 
season ” and “ dry season ” at this part of the Para- 
guay. 

Under the brilliant sky we steamed steadily up the 
mighty river; the sunset was glorious as we leaned on 
the port railing; and after nightfall the moon, nearly 
full and hanging high in the heavens, turned the water 
to shimmering radiance. On the mud flats and sand 
bars and among the green rushes of the hays and inlets 
were stately waterfowl; crimson flamingoes and rosy 
spoonbills, dark-colored ibis, and white storks with 
black wings. Darters, with snakelike necks and pointed 
bills, perched in the trees on the brink of the river. 
Snowy egrets flapped across the marshes. Caymans 
were common and differed from the crocodiles we had 
seen in Africa in two points; they were not alarmed 
by the report of a rifle when fired at, and they lay 
with the head raised instead of stretched along the 
sand. 

For three days, as we steamed northward toward the 
Tropic of Capricorn, and then passed it, we were 
within the Republic of Paraguay. On our right, to 
the east, there was a fairly well-settled country, where 
bananas and oranges were cultivated and other crops 
of hot countries were raised. On the banks we passed 



THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 237 

an occasional small town, or saw a ranch house close 
to the river’s brink, or stopped for wood at some small 
settlement. Across the river to the west lay the level, 
swampy, fertile wastes known as the Chaco, still given 
over either to the wild Indians or to cattle ranching 
on a gigantic scale. The broad river ran in curves 
between mud banks, where terraces marked successive 
periods of flood. A belt of forest stood on each bank, 
but it was only a couple of hundred yards wide. Back 
of it was the open country; on the Chaco side this was 
a vast plain of grass dotted with tall, graceful palms. 
In places the belt of forest vanished, and the palm- 
dotted prairie came to the river’s edge. The Chaco 
is an ideal cattle country and not really unhealthy. 
It will be covered with ranches at a not distant day. But 
mosquitoes and many other winged insect pests swarm 
over it. Cherrie and Miller had spent a week there 
collecting mammals and birds prior to my arrival at 
Asuncion. They were veterans of the tropics, hardened 
to the insect plagues of Guiana and the Orinoco. But 
they reported that never had they been so tortured as 
at Chaco. The sand flies crawled through the meshes 
in their mosquito nets and forbade them to sleep; if 
in their sleep a knee touched the net the mosquitoes 
fell on it so that it looked as if riddled with bird shot; 
and the nights were a torment, although they had done 
well in their work, collecting some two hundred and 
fifty specimens of birds and mammals. 

Nevertheless, for some as yet inscrutable reason the 
river served as a barrier to certain insects which are 
menaces to the cattlemen. With me on the gunboat 
was an old western friend, Tex Rickard, of the Pan¬ 
handle and Alaska and various places between. He 
now has a large tract of land and some thirty-five 


238 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


thousand head of cattle in the Chaco, opposite Con¬ 
cepcion, at which city he was to stop. He told me that 
horses did not do well in the Chaco, but that cattle 
throve, and that, while ticks swarmed on the east hank 
of the great river, they would not live on the west 
bank. Again and again he had crossed herds of cattle 
which were covered with the loathsome bloodsuckers, 
and in a couple of months every tick would be dead. 
The worst animal foes of man, indeed the only danger¬ 
ous foes, are insects; and this is especially true in the 
tropics. Fortunately, exactly as certain differences, 
too minute for us as yet to explain, render some insects 
deadly to man or domestic animals, while closely allied 
foes are harmless, so, for other reasons, which also 
we are not yet able to fathom, these insects are for the 
most part strictly limited by geographical and other 
considerations. The war against what Sir Harry 
Johnston calls the really material devil, the devil of 
evil wild nature in the tropics, has been waged with 
marked success only during the last two decades. The 
men, in the United States, or England, France, Ger¬ 
many, Italy, — the men like Doctor Cruz in Rio 
Janeiro and Doctor Vital Brazil in Sao Paulo — who 
work experimentally within and without the laboratory 
in their warfare against the disease and death-bearing 
insects and microbes, are the true leaders in the fight 
to make the tropics the home of civilized man. 

Late on the evening of the second day of our trip, 
just before midnight, we reached Concepcion. On this 
day, when we stopped for wood or to get provisions — 
at picturesque places, where the women from rough 
mud and thatched cabins were washing clothes in the 
river, or where ragged horsemen stood gazing at us 
from the hank, or where dark, well-dressed ranchmen 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


239 


stood in front of red-roofed houses — we caught many- 
fish. They belonged to one of the most formidable 
genera of fish in the world, the piranha, or cannibal 
fish, the fish that eats men when it can get the chance. 
Farther north there are species of small piranha 
that go in schools. At this point on the Paraguay 
the piranha do not seem to go in regular schools, hut 
they swarm in all the waters and attain a length of 
eighteen inches or over. They are the most ferocious 
fish in the world. Even the most formidable fish, the 
sharks, or the barracudas, usually attack things smaller 
than themselves. But the piranhas habitually attack 
things much larger than themselves. They will snap a 
finger off a hand incautiously trailed in the water; they 
mutilate swimmers — in every river town in Paraguay 
there are men who have been thus mutilated; they will 
rend and devour alive any wounded man or beast; for 
blood in the water excites them to madness. They will 
tear wounded wild fowl to pieces and bite off the tails of 
big fish as they grow exhausted when fighting after 
being hooked. Miller, before I reached Asuncion, had 
been badly bitten by one. Those that we caught 
sometimes hit through the hooks, or the double strands 
of copper wire that served as leaders, and got away. 
Those that we hauled on deck lived for many minutes. 
Most predatory fish are long and slim, like the alliga¬ 
tor gar and pickerel. But the piranha is a short, deep¬ 
bodied fish, with a blunt face and a heavily under¬ 
shot or projecting lower jaw which gapes widely. The 
razor-edged teeth are wedge-shaped like a shark’s, and 
the jaw muscles possess great power. The rabid, furi¬ 
ous snaps drive the teeth through flesh and bone. The 
head, with its short muzzle, staring, malignant eyes, 
and gaping, cruelly armored jaws, is the embodiment 


240 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


of evil ferocity; and the actions of the fish exactly 
match its looks. I never witnessed an exhibition of 
such impotent, savage fury as was shown hy the pi¬ 
ranhas as they flapped on deck. When fresh from the 
water and thrown on the hoards, they uttered an ex¬ 
traordinary squealing sound. As they flapped about, 
they hit with vicious eagerness at whatever presented 
itself. One of them flapped into a cloth and seized 
it with a bulldog grip. Another grasped one of his 
fellows; another snapped at a piece of wood and left 
its teeth marks deep therein. They are the pests of 
the waters, and it is necessary to be exceedingly cau¬ 
tious about either swimming or wading where they 
are found. If cattle are driven into, or of their own 
accord enter, the water, they are commonly not mo¬ 
lested; but if by chance some unusually big or fero¬ 
cious specimen of these fearsome fishes does bite an 
animal —- taking off part of an ear, or perhaps a teat 
from the udder of a cow — the blood brings up every 
member of the ravenous throng which is everywhere 
near; and unless the attacked animal can immediately 
make its escape from the water, it is devoured alive. 
Here on the Paraguay the natives hold them in much 
respect, whereas the caymans are not feared at all. 
The only redeeming feature about them is that they 
themselves are fairly good to eat, although with too 
many hones. . . . 

We steamed on up the river. How and then we 
passed another boat — a steamer, or, to my surprise, 
perhaps a harkentine or schooner. The Paraguay is 
a highway of traffic. Once we passed a big beef-canning 
factory. Ranches stood on either bank a few leagues 
apart, and we stopped at the wood yards on the west 
bank. Indians worked around them. At one such yard 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


241 


the Indians were evidently part of the regular force. 
Their squaws were with them, cooking at queer open- 
air ovens. One small child had as pets a parrot and 
a young coati — a kind of long-nosed raccoon. Loading 
wood, the Indians stood in a line, tossing the logs from 
one to the other. These Indians wore clothes. 

On this day we got into the tropics. Even in the heat 
of the day the deck was pleasant under the awnings; 
the sun rose and set in crimson splendor; and the nights, 
with the moon at the full, were wonderful. At night 
Orion blazed overhead, and the Southern Cross 2 hung 
in the star-brilliant heavens behind us. But after the 
moon rose the constellations paled, and clear in her 
light the tree-clad hanks stood on either hand as we 
steamed steadily against the swirling current of the 
great river. 

At noon on the twelfth we were at the Brazilian 
boundary. On this day we here and there came on low, 
conical hills close to the river. In places the palm 
groves broke through the belts of deciduous trees and 
stretched for a mile or so right along the river’s hank. 
At times we passed cattle on the hanks or sand bars, fol¬ 
lowed by their herders; or a handsome ranch house, un¬ 
der a cluster of shady trees, some hearing a wealth of 
red and some a wealth of yellow blossoms; or we saw 
a horse corral among the trees close to the brink, with 
the horses in it, and a barefooted man in shirt and 
trousers leaning against the fence; or a herd of cattle 
among the palms; or a big tannery or factory, or a lit¬ 
tle native hamlet came in sight. We stopped at one 
tannery. The owner was a Spaniard, the manager an 
“ Oriental,” as he called himself, a Uruguayan, of Ger¬ 
man parentage. The peons, or workers, who lived in a 
2 A constellation seen only in the southern hemisphere. 


242 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


long line of wooden cabins back of tbe main building, 
were mostly Paraguayans, with a few Brazilians and a 
dozen German and Argentine foremen. There were 
also some wild Indians, who were camped in tbe usual 
squalid fashion of Indians who are hangers-on round 
the white man, but have not yet adopted his ways. 
Most of the men were at work cutting wood for the 
tannery. The women and children were in camp. Some 
individuals of both sexes were naked to the waist. One 
little girl had a young ostrich as a pet. 

Waterfowl were plentiful. We saw large flocks of 
wild muscovy ducks. Our tame birds come from this 
wild species, and its absurd misnaming dates back to 
the period when the turkey and guinea pig were mis¬ 
named in similar fashion — our European forefathers 
taking a large and hazy view of geography, and in¬ 
cluding Turkey, Guinea, India, and Muscovy as places 
which in their capacity for being outlandish, could be 
comprehensively used as including America. The mus¬ 
covy ducks were very good eating. Darters and cor¬ 
morants swarmed. They waddled on the sand bars in 
big flocks and crowded the trees by the water’s edge. 
Beautiful snow-white egrets also lit in the trees, often 
well back from the river. A full-foliaged tree of vivid 
green, its round surface crowded with these birds, as if 
it had suddenly blossomed with huge white flowers, is a 
sight worth seeing. Here and there on the sand bars 
we saw huge jabiru storks, and once a flock of white 
wood ibis among the trees on the bank. 

On the Brazilian boundary we met a shallow river 
steamer carrying Colonel Candido Mariano da Silva 
Rondon and several other Brazilian members of the ex¬ 
pedition. Colonel Rondon immediately showed that he 
was all, and more than all, that could be desired. It 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


243 


was evident that he knew his business thoroughly, and 
it was equally evident that he would be a pleasant 
companion. . . . 

The steamers halted; Colonel Rondon and several of 
his officers, spick and span in their white uniforms, 
came aboard; and in the afternoon I visited him on his 
steamer to talk over our plans. When these had been 
fully discussed and agreed on, we took tea. I hap¬ 
pened to mention that one of our naturalists, Miller, 
had been bitten by a piranha, and the man-eating fish 
at once became the subject of conversation. Curiously 
enough, one of the Brazilian taxidermists had also just 
been severely bitten by a piranha. My new companions 
had story after story to tell of them. Only three weeks 
previously, a twelve-year-old boy who had gone in 
swimming near Corumba was attacked and literally 
devoured alive by them. Colonel Rondon during his 
exploring trips had met with more than one unpleasant 
experience in connection with them. He had lost one 
of his toes by the bite of a piranha. He was about to 
bathe, and had chosen a shallow pool at the edge of the 
river, which he carefully inspected until he was satis¬ 
fied that none of the man-eating fish were in it; yet as 
soon as he put his foot into the water one of them at¬ 
tacked him and bit off a toe. On another occasion, while 
wading across a narrow stream, one of his party was 
attacked; the fish bit him on the thighs and buttocks 
and, when he put down his hands, tore them also; he 
was near the bank, and by a rush reached it and swung 
himself out of the water by means of an overhanging 
limb of a tree; but he was terribly injured, and it took 
him six months before his wounds healed and he re¬ 
covered. An extraordinary incident occurred on an¬ 
other trip. The party were without food and very hun- 


244 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

gry. On reaching a stream they dynamited it and 
waded in to seize the stunned fish as they floated on the 
surface. One man, Lieutenant Pyrineus, having his 
hands full, tried to hold one fish by putting its head in 
his mouth; it was a piranha, and seemingly stunned, 
but in a moment it recovered, and bit a big section out 
of his tongue. ... On another occasion a member of 
the party was off by himself on a mule. The mule came 
into camp alone. Following his track back, they came 
to a ford, where in the water they found the skeleton 
of the dead man, his clothes uninjured, but every par¬ 
ticle of flesh stripped from his bones. Whether he had 
been drowned and the fishes had then eaten his body, 
or whether they had killed him, it was impossible to 
say. They had not hurt the clothes, getting in under 
them, which made it seem likely that there had been 
no struggle. These man-eating fish are a veritable 
scourge in the waters they frequent. But it must not 
be understood by this that the piranhas — or, for the 
matter of that, the New World caymans and crocodiles 
— ever become such dreadful foes of man as, for in¬ 
stance, the man-eating crocodiles of Africa. Accidents 
occur, and there are certain places where swimming and 
bathing are dangerous; but in most places the people 
swim freely, although they are usually careful to find 
spots they believe safe, or else to keep together and make 
a splashing in the water. 

During his trips Colonel Rondon had met with vari¬ 
ous experiences with wild creatures. The Paraguayan 
caymans are not ordinarily dangerous to man; but they 
do sometimes become man-eaters and should be de¬ 
stroyed whenever opportunity offers. The huge cay¬ 
mans and crocodiles of the Amazon are far more dan¬ 
gerous, and the colonel knew of repeated instances 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


245 


where men, women, and children had become their vic¬ 
tims. Once, while dynamiting a stream for fish for his 
starving party, he partially stunned a giant anaconda, 
which he killed as it crept slowly off. He said that it 
was of a size that no other anaconda he had ever seen 
even approached and that in his opinion such a brute, if 
hungry, would readily attack a full-grown man. Twice 
smaller anacondas had attacked his dogs; one was car¬ 
ried under water — for the anaconda is a water-loving 
serpent — but he rescued it. One of his men was bitten 
by a jararaca; he killed the venomous snake, but was 
not discovered and brought back to camp until it was 
too late to save his life. The puma Colonel Rondon 
had found to be as cowardly as I have always found it, 
but the jaguar was a formidable beast, which occa¬ 
sionally turned man-eater, and often charged savagely 
when brought to bay. He had known a hunter to be 
killed by a jaguar he was following in thick grass cover. 

All such enemies, however, he regarded as utterly 
trivial compared to the real dangers of the wilderness — 
the torment and menace of attacks by the swarming 
insects, by mosquitoes and the even more intolerable 
tiny gnats, by the ticks, and by the vicious poisonous 
ants which occasionally cause villages, and even whole 
districts, to be deserted by human beings. These in¬ 
sects, and the fevers they cause, and dysentery and 
starvation and wearing hardship and accidents in rapids 
are what the pioneer explorers have to fear. The con¬ 
versation was to me most interesting. The colonel spoke 
French about to the extent I did; but, of course, he and 
the others preferred Portuguese; and then Kermit was 
the interpreter. . . . 

We took breakfast — the eleven o’clock Brazilian 
breakfast — on Colonel Rondon’s boat. Caymans were 


246 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

becoming more plentiful. The ugly brutes lay on the 
sand flats and mud banks like logs, always with the 
head raised, sometimes with the jaws open. They are 
often dangerous to domestic animals and are always de¬ 
structive to fish, and it is good to shoot them. I killed 
half a dozen and missed nearly as many more — a throb¬ 
bing boat does not improve one’s aim. We passed forests 
of palms that extended for leagues, and vast marshy 
meadows, where storks, herons, and ibis were gathered, 
with flocks of cormorants and darters on the sand bars, 
and stilts, skimmers, and clouds of beautiful swaying 
terns in the foreground. About noon we passed the 
highest point which the old Spanish conquistadores and 
explorers, Irala and Ayolas, had reached in the course 
of their marvelous journeys in the first half of the six¬ 
teenth century — at a time when there was not a settle¬ 
ment in what is now the United States and when hardly 
a single English sea captain had ventured so much as to 
cross the Atlantic. 

By the following day the country on the east bank 
had become a vast marshy plain, dotted here and there 
by tree-clad patches of higher land. The morning was 
rainy — a contrast to the fine weather we had hitherto 
encountered. We passed wood yards and cattle ranches. 
At one of the latter the owner, an Argentine of Irish 
parentage, who still spoke English with the accent of 
the land of his parents’ nativity, remarked that this 
was the first time the American flag had been seen on 
the upper Paraguay, for our gunboat carried it at the 
masthead. Early in the afternoon, having reached the 
part where both banks of the river were Brazilian ter¬ 
ritory, we came to the old colonial Portuguese fort of 
Coimbra. It stands where two steep hills rise, one on 
either side of the river, and it guards the water gorge 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


247 


between them. It was captured by the Paraguayans in 
the war of nearly a century ago. Some modern guns 
have been mounted, and there is a garrison of Brazilian 
troops. The white fort is perched on the hillside, where 
it clings and rises, terrace above terrace, with bastion 
and parapet and crenellated wall. At the foot of the 
hill, on the riverine plain, stretches the old-time village 
with its roofs of palm. In the village dwell several 
hundred souls, almost entirely the officers and soldiers 
and their families. There is one long street. The one- 
story, daub-and-wattle houses have low eaves and steep 
sloping roofs of palm leaves or of split palm trunks. 
Under one or two old but small trees there are rude 
benches, and for a part of the length of the street there is 
a rough stone sidewalk. A little graveyard, some of the 
tombs very old, stands at the end. As we passed down 
the street, the wives and the swarming children of the 
garrison were at the doors and windows; there were 
women and girls with skins as fair as any in the north- 
land, and others that were predominantly negro. Most 
were of intervening shades. All this was paralleled 
among the men, and the fusion of colors was going on 
steadily. 

Around the village black vultures were gathered. Hot 
long before reaching it we passed some rounded green 
trees, their tops covered with the showy wood ibis; at the 
same time we saw behind them, farther inland, other 
trees crowded with the more delicate forms of the 
shining white egrets. 

The river now widened, so that in places it looked 
like a long lake; it wound in every direction through 
the endless marshy plain, whose surface was broken here 
and there by low mountains. The splendor of the sun¬ 
set I never saw surpassed. We were steaming east to- 


248 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

ward clouds of storm. The river ran, a broad highway 
of molten gold, into the flaming sky, the far-off moun¬ 
tains loomed purple across the marshes; belts of rich 
green, the river hanks stood out on either side against 
the rose hues of the rippling water; in front, as we 
forged steadily onward, hung the tropic night, dim 
and vast. 

On December 15 we reached Corumba. For three or 
four miles before it is reached, the west bank, on which it 
stands, becomes high rocky ground, falling away into 
cliffs. The country round about was evidently well 
peopled. We saw gauchos, cattle-herders — the equiv¬ 
alent of our cowboys — riding along the bank. Women 
were washing clothes, and their naked children bathing 
on the shore — we were told that caymans and piranhas 
rarely ventured near a place where so much was going 
on and that accidents generally occurred in ponds or 
lonely stretches of the river. Several steamers came 
out to meet us and accompanied us for a dozen miles, 
with bands playing and the passengers cheering, just 
as if we were nearing some town on the Hudson. 

Corumba is on a steep hillside, with wide, roughly 
paved streets, some of them lined with beautiful trees 
that bear scarlet flowers, and with well-built houses, 
most of them of one story, some of two or three stories. 
We were greeted with a reception by the municipal 
council and were given a state dinner. The hotel, kept 
by an Italian, was as comfortable as possible — stone 
floors, high ceilings, big windows and doors, a cool, open 
courtyard, and a shower bath. Of course, Corumba is 
still a frontier town. The vehicles are oxcarts and mule 
carts; there are no carriages; and oxen as well as mules 
are used for riding. The water comes from a big cen¬ 
tral well; around it the water carts gather, and their 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 


249 


contents are then peddled around at the different houses. 
The families showed the mixture of races characteristic 
of Brazil; one mother, after the children had been 
photographed in their ordinary costume, begged that 
we return and take them in their Sunday clothes, which 
was accordingly done. In a year the railway from Rio 
will reach Corumba, and then this city, and the coun¬ 
try round about, will see much development. 

At this point we rejoined the rest of the party, and 
very glad we were to see them. Cherrie and Miller had 
already collected some eight hundred specimens of mam¬ 
mals and birds. 


FRANKLIN" AS A SCIENTIST 
by Mary Geisler Phillips 

B ENJAMIN ERANKLIN was a self-educated 
man. That he made a success of his education, 
we know from his brilliant and crowded career and 
from the great impetus he gave to education in Amer¬ 
ica, the influence of which is still felt. One biographer 
said of him: li He never spoke a word too soon, nor a 
word too late, nor a word too much, nor failed to speak 
the right word at the right season.” 

He was horn in Boston, January 17, 1706, the fifteenth 
in a family of seventeen children. He himself wrote 
that he “ was horn and bred in poverty and obscurity,” 
his father being a tallow-chandler, that is, a seller of fat 
for the making of candles. Although his father could 
send Benjamin to school only until his twelfth year, 
he was not unmindful of his children’s mental needs; 
for Franklin remembers how his father “ at the table 
liked to have, as often as he could, some sensible friend 
or neighbor to converse with and always took care to 
start some ingenious or useful topic for discourse which 
might tend to improve the minds of his children. By 
this means he turned our attention to what was good, 
just, and prudent in the conduct of life.” 

When it was to he decided what Benjamin should do 
for a living, he tells us that his father took him walking 
with him to “ see joiners, bricklayers, turners, braziers, 
etc., at their work, that he might observe my inclination, 
and endeavor to fix it on some trade or profession that 


FRANKLIN AS A SCIENTIST 


251 


would keep me on land. It has ever since been a pleas¬ 
ure to me to see good workmen handle their tools, and it 
has often been useful to me to have learnt so much by 
it as to he able to do some trifling jobs in the house, 
when a workman could not readily be got, and to con¬ 
struct little machines for my experiments, while the in¬ 
tention of making the experiment was fresh and warm 
in my mind.” 

Since Benjamin loved hooks and spent the little 
money he had for them, he was apprenticed to his elder 
brother, a printer, and it was in following his trade 
that he began to see the necessity of being able to talk 
and write clearly. He therefore decided to improve 
himself by taking the best writings of the day and imi¬ 
tating them. Happily, Addison’s Spectator fell into 
his hands one day, and he was so delighted with it that 
he read it over and over. Then he rewrote it from 
memory, compared his version with the original and 
corrected and rewrote until his composition was per¬ 
fect. This sort of exercise he set himself for evenings 
after his work was done, with the result that many of 
his writings are classics of English composition. His 
ability to state ideas in simple, clear, forceful language 
was of the greatest value to him, not only in explaining 
his scientific experiments hut also in his diplomatic 
service abroad and in helping to write the Declaration 
of Independence and the Constitution of the United 
States. 

Franklin was a natural doubter and experimenter, 
who tested out all sorts of ideas. As he was interested 
in everything in the world, he early became engrossed 
in scientific discovery and invention. Among other in¬ 
ventions of his are the lightning rod and the Franklin 
stove, which consumes its own smoke. 


252 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

When Benjamin was sixteen years old, he had the 
pleasure of seeing his first article in print in the New 
England Courant, his brother's paper, in which he 
signed himself “ Silence Dogood ” But even this pleas¬ 
ure could not offset the ill-treatment of his brother; 
and when opportunity offered, Benjamin set out for 
Philadelphia, where in 1726 he began business as a 
stationer and printer, establishing a newspaper in 1728. 
Pour years later he began publishing Poor Richard s 
Almanac, which became noted for its pithy maxims, 
some of which were original, but most of which he gath¬ 
ered from the wisdom of the ages. 

Before Franklin was twenty years old, he organized 
a famous club, the “ Junto," made up of twelve 
congenial fellows, who met on Friday evenings for 
discussion of moral questions, politics, and natural phi¬ 
losophy. This was the first debating society in Amer¬ 
ica and the first book-loving club, from which sprang 
our circulating libraries. For their debates, the Junto 
needed books, which were very scarce and very ex¬ 
pensive in that day. Franklin conceived the idea of a 
permanent library, supported by subscription for the 
use of his club. The idea grew rapidly, and as Frank¬ 
lin says, 

This was the mother of all the North American subscrip¬ 
tion libraries, now so numerous. It is become a great thing 
in itself and continually goes on increasing; these libraries 
have improved the general conversation of the Americans, 
made the common tradesmen and farmers as intelligent as 
most gentlemen from other countries, and perhaps have 
contributed in some degree to the stand so generally made 
throughout the colonies in defense of their privileges. 

When we think of the influence of libraries in our 
country, we realize how much of our education we owe 


FRANKLIN AS A SCIENTIST . 253 

to Benjamin Franklin. He was the founder of tlie 
Academy, which later became the University of Penn¬ 
sylvania, and also the founder of the first scientific so¬ 
ciety in America, the American Philosophical Society. 

Franklin early became famous both in America and 
abroad as the foremost experimenter of his time and 
especially as a pioneer in the field of electrical science. 
From the letters given below we can see what an inquir¬ 
ing mind he had and with what care, diligence, and 
ingenuity he put ideas to the test of experimentation. 

We are here thinking mainly of Franklin as a writer, 
a philosopher, and a scientist; but as we read these let¬ 
ters of his, we must remember at the same time when 
he was concerned with his kite and string, he was car¬ 
rying heavy civic duties. As a young man he was the 
commissioned agent in England for four of the Amer¬ 
ican colonies, Pennsylvania, Georgia, Massachusetts, 
and New Jersey. He was deputy postmaster until 1774 
and later Postmaster-general. He it was who presented 
the first sketch of a plan of confederation to Congress 
on July 21, 1775. He was one of a committee of five 
to draw up the Declaration of Independence and the 
original draft, prepared by Jefferson, contains additions 
and corrections in Franklin’s handwriting. In 1775, 
Franklin was sent with two others to France to ask aid 
for the American colonies in their struggle for inde¬ 
pendence. There he was received with a degree of dis¬ 
tinction rarely accorded a foreigner, for his reputation 
was already great. It was due to his skillful diplomacy 
that France gave the colonies such liberal help. It was 
also largely due to him that a satisfactory peace was 
made with Great Britain. It was not until March, 
1785, that Franklin was allowed to resign his position 
in France, for Congress had confidence in his profound 


254 . THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

influence, his learned diplomacy, and his love of coun¬ 
try. When Jefferson was appointed, some one asked, 
“ You come to fill Dr. Franklin’s place? ” He replied, 
“ 0, no, sir! no man living can do that; hut I am ap¬ 
pointed to succeed him.” 

Upon his return to America, Franklin retained his 
interest in public affairs, keeping up his active career 
almost until his death in April, 1790. The two sides of 
his character are well exemplified in the Latin epigraph 
written for him by a celebrated Frenchman, Turgot: 
Eripuit coelo fulmen sceptrumqwe tyrannis! — “ He 
snatched the lightning from heaven, the scepter from 
tyrants.” 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 1 

by Benjamin Franklin 

The Electrical Kite 
(to peter coleieson, London) 

Philadelphia, October 16, 1752 

AS frequent mention is made in public papers from 
j \ _ Europe of the success of the Philadelphia ex¬ 
periment for drawing the electric fire from clouds by 
means of pointed rods of iron erected on high buildings 
etc., it may he agreeable to the curious to be informed 
that the same experiment has succeeded in Philadelphia, 
though made in a different and more easy manner, which 
is as follows: 

Make a small cross of two light strips of cedar, the 
arms so long as to reach to the four corners of a large 
thin silk handkerchief when extended; tie the corners 
of the handkerchief to the extremities of the cross, so 
you have the body of a kite, which, being properly ac¬ 
commodated with a tail, loop, and string, will rise in 
the air like those made of paper; but this, being of 
silk, is fitter to bear the wet and wind of a thunder gust 
without tearing. To the top of the upright stick^ of 
the cross is to be fixed a very sharp pointed wire, rising 
a foot or more above the wood. To the end of the twine 

1 Many of the results of Franklin’s experimentation he recorded 
in letters to various scientific friends, and it is from his voluminous 
correspondence that these selections are made. 


256 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


next the hand is to be tied a silk ribbon, and where the 
silk and twine join a key may be fastened. 

This kite is to be raised when a thunder gust ap¬ 
pears to be coming on, and the person who bolds the 
string must stand within a door or window, or under 
some cover, so that the silk ribbon may not be wet, 
and care must be taken that the twine does not touch 
the frame of the door or window. As soon as any of 
the thunder clouds come over the kite, the pointed wire 
will draw the electric fire from them, and the kite, with 
all the twine, will be electrified, and the loose filaments 
of the twine will stand out every way and be attracted 
by an approaching finger. And when the rain has 
wetted the kite and twine, so that it can conduct the 
electric fire freely, you will find it stream out plenti¬ 
fully from the key on the approach of your knuckle. 
At this key the vial may be charged; and from electric 
fire thus obtained spirits may be kindled, and all other 
electric experiments be performed which are usually 
done by the help of a rubbed glass globe or tube, and 
thereby the sameness of the electric matter with that 
of lightning completely demonstrated. 


Various Experiments — Treatment of Inventors 
(to dr. lining, charleston) 

Philadelphia, March 18, 1775 

Your question, how I first came to think of propos¬ 
ing the experiment of drawing down the lightning, in 
order to ascertain its sameness with the electric fluid, 
I cannot answer better than by giving you an extract 
from the minutes I used to keep of the experiments 
I made, with memorandums of such as I purposed to 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 257 

make, the reasons for making them, and the observa¬ 
tions that arose upon them, from which minutes my 
letters were afterwards drawn. By this extract you 
will see that the thought was not so much “ an out-of- 
the-way one ” hut that it might have occurred to an 
electrician. 

November 7, 17^9. — Electrical fluid agrees with 
lightning in these particulars: (1) Giving light. (2) 
Color of the light. (3) Crooked direction. (4) Swift 
motion. (5) Being conducted by metals. (6) Crack 
or noise in exploding. (7) Subsisting in water or ice. 
(8) Bending bodies it passes through. (9) Destroy¬ 
ing animals. (10) Melting metals. (11) Firing in¬ 
flammable substances. (12) Sulphureous smell.— The 
electric fluid is attracted by points. — We do not know 
whether this property is in lightning. — But since they 
agree in all the particulars wherein we can already 
compare them, is it not probable they agree likewise 
in this? Let the experiment he made. 

I wish I could give you any satisfaction in the ar¬ 
ticle of clouds. I am still at a loss about the manner 
in which they become charged with electricity, no 
hypothesis I have yet formed perfectly satisfying me. 
Some time since, I heated very hot a brass plate two 
feet square and placed it* on an electric stand. From 
the plate a wire extended horizontally four or five feet, 
and at the end of it hung, by linen threads, a pair of 
cork halls. I then repeatedly sprinkled water over the 
plate that it might he raised from it in vapor, hoping 
that, if the vapor either carried off the electricity of 
the plate or left behind it that of the water (one of 
which I supposed it must do, if, like the clouds,, it be¬ 
came electrized itself, either positively or negatively), 
I should perceive and determine it by the separation 


258 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


of the balls and by finding whether they were positive 
or negative; but no alteration was made at all, nor could 
I perceive that the steam was itself electrized, though 
I still have some suspicion that the steam was not fully 
examined, and I think the experiment should be re¬ 
peated. Whether the first state of electrized clouds 
is positive or negative, if I could find the cause of that, 
I should he at no loss about the other; for either is 
easily deduced from the other, as one state is easily 
produced by the other. A strongly positive cloud may 
drive out of a neighboring cloud much of its natural 
quantity of the electric fluid and, passing by it, leave 
it in a negative state. In the same way, a strongly 
negative cloud may occasion a neighboring cloud to 
draw in to itself from others an additional quantity 
and, passing by it, leave it in a positive state. How 
these effects may he produced you will easily conceive 
on perusing and considering the experiments in the 
enclosed paper; and from them too it appears probable 
that every change from positive to negative, and from 
negative to positive, that during a thunder gust we 
see in the cork halls annexed to the apparatus, is not 
owing to the presence of clouds in the same state hut 
often to the absence of positive or negative clouds that, 
having just passed, leave the'rod in the opposite state. 

The knocking down of the six men was performed 
with two of my large jars not fully charged. I laid 
one end of my discharging rod upon the head of the 
first; he laid his hand upon the head of the second; 
the second his hand on the head of the third, and so 
to the last, who held in his hand the chain that was 
connected with the outside of the jars. When they 
were thus placed, I applied the other end of my rod 
to the prime conductor, and they all dropped together. 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


259 


When they got up, they all declared they had not felt 
any stroke and wondered how they came to fall; nor 
did any of them either hear the crack or see the light 
of it. You suppose it a dangerous experiment; but 
I had once suffered the same myself, receiving, by ac¬ 
cident, an equal stroke through my head, that struck 
me down without hurting me; and I had seen a young 
woman who was about to he electrified through the 
feet (for some indisposition) receive a greater charge 
through the head, by inadvertently stooping forward 
to look at the placing of her feet, till her forehead (as 
she was very tall) came too near my prime conductor; 
she dropped, but instantly got up again, complaining 
of nothing. A person so struck sinks down doubled, 
or folded together as it were, the joints losing their 
strength and stiffness at once, so that he drops on the 
spot where he stood instantly, and there is no previous 
staggering, nor does he ever fall lengthwise. Too 
great a charge might, indeed, kill a man; but I have 
not yet seen any hurt done by it. It would certainly, 
as you observe, he the easiest of all deaths. The 
experiment you have heard so imperfect an account 
of is merely this: I electrified a silver pint can, on 
an electric stand, and then lowered into it a cork hall 
of about an inch diameter, hanging by a silk string, 
till the cork touched the bottom of the can. The cork 
was not attracted to the inside of the can as it would 
have been to the outside; and though it touched the 
bottom, yet when drawn out it was not found to he 
electrified by that touch, as it would have been by touch¬ 
ing the outside. The fact is singular. You require 
the reason; I do not know it. Perhaps you may dis¬ 
cover it, and then you will he so good as to communi¬ 
cate it to me. I find a frank acknowledgment of one's 


260 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


ignorance is not only tlie easiest way to get rid of a 
difficulty but tbe likeliest way to obtain information, 
and therefore I practise it; I think it an honest policy. 
Those who affect to be thought to know everything, and 
so undertake to explain everything, often remain long 
ignorant of many things that others could and would 
instruct them in, if they appeared less conceited. 

The treatment your friend has met with is so com¬ 
mon that no man who knows what the world is, and 
ever has been, should expect to escape it. 

There are everywhere a number of people, who, being 
totally destitute of any inventive faculty themselves, 
do not readily conceive that others may possess it; 
they think of inventions as miracles. There might be 
such formerly, but they are ceased. "With these every 
one who offers a new invention is deemed a pretender; 
he had it from some other country, or from some book; 
a man of their own acquaintance, one who has no more 
sense than themselves, could not possibly, in their 
opinion, have been the inventor of anything. They 
are confirmed, too, in these sentiments, by fre¬ 
quent instances of pretensions to invention, which 
vanity is daily producing. That vanity, too, though 
an incitement to invention, is at the same time the 
pest of inventors. Jealousy and envy deny the merit 
or the novelty of your invention; but vanity, when the 
novelty and merit are established, claims it for its own. 
The smaller your invention is, the more mortification 
you receive in having the credit of it disputed with 
you by a rival, whom the jealousy and envy of others 
are ready to support against you, at least so far as 
to make the point doubtful. It is not in itself of im¬ 
portance enough for a dispute; no one would think 
your proofs and reasons worth their attention; and 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


261 


yet, if you do not dispute tlie point and demonstrate 
your right, you not only lose the credit of being in that 
instance ingenious, hut you suffer the disgrace of not 
being ingenuous ,— not only of being a plagiary, but 
of being a plagiary for trifles. Had the invention been 
greater, it would have disgraced you less; for men have 
not so contemptible an idea of him that robs for gold 
on the highway as of him that can pick pockets for 
halfpence and farthings. 

Thus, through envy, jealousy, and the vanity of 
competitors for fame, the origin of many of the most 
extraordinary inventions, though produced within but 
a few centuries past, is involved in doubt and uncer¬ 
tainty. We scarce know to whom we are indebted for 
the compass and for spectacles; nor have even paper and 
printing, that record everything else, been able to pre¬ 
serve with certainty the name and reputation of their 
inventors. One would not, therefore, of all faculties 
or qualities of the mind, wish for a friend or a child 
that he should have that of invention. For his at¬ 
tempts to benefit mankind in that way, however well 
imagined, if they do not succeed, expose him, though 
very unjustly, to general ridicule and contempt; and 
if they do succeed, to envy, robbery, and abuse. 


Fire in Bodies — Experiment 

(TO MR. KINNERSLEY) 

London, February 20, 1762 

How many ways there are of kindling fire, or pro¬ 
ducing heat in bodies! By the sun’s rays, by collision, 
by friction, by hammering, by putrefaction, by fer¬ 
mentation, by mixtures of fluids, by mixtures of solids 


262 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


with fluids, and by electricity. And yet the fire, when 
produced, though in different bodies it may differ in 
circumstances, as in color, vehemence, etc., yet in the 
same bodies it is generally the same. Does this not 
seem to indicate that the fire existed in the body, though 
in the quiescent state, before it was by any of these 
means excited, disengaged, and brought forth to action 
and to view? May it not constitute a part, and even a 
principal part, of the solid substance of bodies ? 

If this should he the case, kindling a fire in a body 
would he nothing more than developing this inflam¬ 
mable principle and setting it at liberty to act in sepa¬ 
rating the parts of that body, which then exhibits the 
appearances of scorching, melting, burning, etc. When 
a man lights a hundred candles from the flame of one, 
without diminishing that flame, can it he properly 
said to have communicated all that fire? When a 
single spark from a flint, applied to a magazine of 
gunpowder, is immediately attended with this conse¬ 
quence, that the whole is in flame, exploding with im¬ 
mense violence, could all this fire exist first in the spark ? 
We cannot conceive it. 

And thus we seem led to this supposition — that 
there is fire enough in all bodies to singe, melt, or burn 
them, whenever it is, by any means, set at liberty, so 
that it may exert itself upon them, or he disengaged 
from them. This liberty seems to he afforded it by the 
passage of electricity through them, which we know 
can and does, of itself, separate even the parts of water; 
and perhaps the immediate appearances of fire are only 
the effects of such separations. If so, there would he 
no need of supposing that the electric fluid heats itself 
by the swiftness of its motion, or heats bodies by the 
resistance it meets with in passing through them. They 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


263 


would only be heated in proportion as such separation 
could be more easily made. Thus a melting heat can¬ 
not be given to a large wire in the flame of a candle, 
though it may to a small one, and this not because the 
large wire resists less that action of the flame which 
tends to separate its parts, but because it resists it more 
than the smaller wire, or because the force, being 
divided among more parts, acts weaker on each. 

This reminds me, however, of a little experiment I 
have frequently made that shows at one operation the 
different effects of the quantity of electric fluid passing 
through different quantities of metal. A strip of tin 
foil, three inches long, a quarter of an inch wide at 
one end, and tapering all the way to a sharp point at 
the other, fixed between two pieces of glass and having 
the electricity of a large glass jar sent through it, will 
not be discomposed in the broadest part; toward the 
middle it will appear melted in spots; where narrower, 
it will be quite melted; and about half an inch of it 
next the point will be reduced to smoke. 


Salt Water Rendered Fresh by Distillation — 
Method of Relieving Thirst by Sea Water 

Craven Street, August 10, 1761 

We are to set out this week for Holland, where we 
may possibly spend a month, but purpose to be home 
again before the coronation. I could not go without 
taking leave of you by a line at least, when I am so 
many letters in your debt. 

In yours of May 19, which I have before me, you 
speak of the ease with which salt water may be made 
fresh by distillation, supposing it to be, as I had said, 


264 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

that in evaporation the air would take up the water, 
but not the salt that was mixed with it. It is true that 
distilled sea water will not be salt, but there are other 
disagreeable qualities that rise with the water in dis¬ 
tillation, which indeed several besides Dr. Hales have 
endeavored by some means to prevent, but as yet their 
methods have not been brought much into use. 

I have a singular opinion on this subject which I 
will venture to communicate to you, though I doubt 
you will rank it among my whims. It is certain that 
the skin has imbibing as well as discharging pores; 
witness the effects of a blistering plaster, etc. I have 
read that a man, hired by a physician to stand by 
way of experiment in the open air naked during a 
moist night, weighed near three pounds heavier in the 
morning. 

I have often observed myself, that, however thirsty 
I may have been before going into the water to swim, 
I am never long so in the water. These imbibing pores, 
however, are very fine — perhaps fine enough in filter¬ 
ing to separate salt from water; for though I have 
soaked (by swimming, when a boy) several hours in 
the day for several days successively in salt water, I 
never found my blood and juices salted by that means, 
so as to make me thirsty or feel a salt taste in my mouth; 
and it is remarkable that the flesh of sea fish, though 
bred in salt water, is not salt. 

Hence, I imagine that if people at sea, distressed by 
thirst, when their fresh water is unfortunately spent, 
would make bathing tubs of their empty water casks 
and, filling them with sea water, sit in them an hour 
or two each day, they might be greatly relieved. Per¬ 
haps keeping their clothes constantly wet might have 
an almost equal effect, and this without danger of 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


265 


catching cold. Men do not catch cold by wet clothes 
at sea. Damp hut not wet linen may possibly give 
colds, hut no one catches cold by bathing, and no clothes 
can he wetter than water itself. Why damp clothes 
should then occasion colds is a curious question, the 
discussion of which I reserve for a future letter or some 
future conversation. 


Tendency of Rivers to the Sea — Effects of the 
Sun's Rays on Cloths of Different Colors 

(to miss stevenson) 

September 20, 1761 

My dear friend: It is, as you observed in our late 
conversation, a very general opinion that all rivers run 
into the sea, or deposit their waters there. ’Tis a kind 
of audacity to call such general opinions in question, 
and may subject one to censure. But we must hazard 
something in what we think the cause of truth; and 
if we propose our objections modestly, we shall, though 
mistaken, deserve a censure less severe than when we 
are both mistaken and insolent. 

That some rivers run into the sea is beyond a doubt: 
such, for instance, are the Amazon, and I think the 
Orinoco and the Mississippi. The proof is that their 
waters are fresh quite to the sea and out to some dis¬ 
tance from the land. Our question is, whether the 
fresh waters of those rivers whose beds are filled with 
salt water to a considerable distance up from the sea 
(as the Thames,' the Delaware, and the rivers that com¬ 
municate with Chesapeake Bay in Virginia) do ever 
arrive at the sea ? And as I suspect they do not, I am 
now to acquaint you with my reasons; or if they are not 


26G THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

allowed to be reasons, my conceptions at least, of this 
matter. 

The common supply of rivers is from springs, which 
draw their origin from rain that has soaked into the 
earth. The union of a number of springs forms a 
river. The waters, as they run, exposed to the sun, 
air, and wind, are continually evaporating. Hence in 
traveling one may often see where a river runs, by. a 
long bluish mist over it, though we are at such a dis¬ 
tance as not to see the river itself. The quantity of 
this evaporation is greater or less, in proportion to the 
surface exposed by the same quantity of water to those 
causes of evaporation. While the river runs in a nar¬ 
row, confined channel in the upper, hilly country, only 
a small surface is exposed; a greater, as the river 
widens. Now, if a river ends in a lake, as some 
do, whereby its waters are spread so wide as that the 
evaporation is equal to the sum of all its springs, that 
lake will never overflow; and if, instead of ending in 
a lake, it was drawn into greater length as a river, so 
as to expose a surface equal in the whole to that lake, 
the evaporation would be equal, and such river would 
end as a canal, when the ignorant might suppose, as 
they actually do in such cases, that the river loses itself 
by running under ground, whereas in truth it has run 
up into the air. 

How how many rivers that are open to the sea widen 
much before they arrive at it, not merely by the addi¬ 
tional waters they receive but by having their course 
stopped by the opposing flood tide; by being turned 
back twice in twenty-four hours, and by finding broader 
beds in the low, flat countries to dilate themselves in; 
hence the evaporation of the fresh water is propor- 
tionably increased, so that in some rivers it may equal 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


267 


tlie springs of supply. In such cases, the salt water 
comes up the river and meets the fresh in that part, 
where if there were a wall or bank of earth across, from 
side to side, the river would form a lake — fuller in¬ 
deed at some times than at others, according to the 
seasons, hut whose evaporation would, one time with 
another, he equal to its supply. 

When the communication between the two kinds of 
water is open, this supposed wall of separation may he 
conceived as a movable one which is not only pushed 
some miles higher up the river by every flood tide from 
the sea and carried down again as far by every tide 
of ebb, but which has even this space of vibration re¬ 
moved nearer to the sea in wet seasons, when the springs 
and brooks in the upper country are augmented by the 
falling rains, so as to swell the river, and further from 
the sea in dry seasons. 

Within a few miles above and below this movable 
line of separation, the different waters mix a little, 
partly by their motion to and fro, and partly from the 
greater specific gravity of the salt water, which in¬ 
clines it to run under the fresh, while the fresh water, 
being lighter, runs over the salt. 

Cast your eye on the map of North America, and 
observe the Bay of Chesapeake in Virginia, mentioned 
above; you will see communicating with it by their 
mouths the great rivers Susquehanna, Potomac, Rappa¬ 
hannock, York, and James, besides a number of smaller 
streams, each as big as the Thames. It has been pro¬ 
posed by philosophic writers that, to compute how much 
water any river discharges into the sea in a given time, 
we should measure its depth and swiftness at any part 
above the tide; as for the Thames, at Kingston or 
Windsor. But can one imagine that if all the water 


268 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


of those vast rivers went to the sea, it would not first 
have pushed the salt water out of that narrow-mouthed 
bay and filled it with fresh? The Susquehanna alone 
would seem to he sufficient for this, if it were not for 
the loss by evaporation. And yet that hay is salt quite 
up to Annapolis. 

As to our other subject, the different degrees of heat 
imbibed from the sun’s rays by cloths of different col¬ 
ors, since I cannot find the notes of my experiment to 
send you, I must give it as well as I can from memory. 

But first let me mention an experiment you may 
easily make yourself. Walk hut a quarter of an hour 
in your garden when the sun shines, with a part of 
your dress white, and a part black; then apply your 
hand to them alternately, and you will find a very great 
difference in their warmth. The black will be quite 
hot to the touch, the white still cool. Another. Try to 
fire the paper with a burning glass. If it is white, you 
will not easily burn it; but if you bring the focus to a 
black spot, or upon letters, written or printed, the paper 
will immediately be on fire under the letters. 

Thus fullers and dyers find black cloths, of equal 
thickness with white ones, and hung out equally wet, 
dry in the sun much sooner than the white, being more 
readily heated by the sun’s rays. It is the same before 
a fire, the heat of which sooner penetrates black stock¬ 
ings than white ones, and so is apt to burn a man’s shins. 
Also beer much sooner warms in a black mug set be¬ 
fore the fire than in a white one, or in a bright silver 
tankard. 

My experiment was this. I took a number of little 
square pieces of broadcloth from a tailor’s pattern card, 
of various colors. There were black, deep blue, lighter 
blue, green, purple, red, yellow, white, and other colors 



NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


269 


or shades of colors. I laid them all out upon the snow 
in a bright sunshiny morning. In a few hours (I 
cannot now be exact as to the time) the black, being 
warmed most by the sun, was sunk so low as to he below 
the stroke of the sun’s rays; the dark blue al¬ 
most as low, the lighter blue not quite so much as the 
dark, the other colors less as they were lighter; and 
the quite white remained on the surface of the snow, not 
having entered it at all. 

What signifies philosophy that does not apply to 
some use? May we not learn from hence that black 
clothes are not so fit to wear in a hot, sunny climate 
or season as white ones, because in such clothes the 
body is more heated by the sun when we walk abroad 
and are at the same time heated by the exercise, which 
double heat is apt to bring on putrid, dangerous fevers? 
That soldiers and seamen, who must march and labor 
in the sun, should in the East or West Indies have an 
uniform of white? That summer hats, for men or 
women, should he white, as repelling that heat which 
gives headaches to many, and to some the fatal stroke 
that the French call the coup de soleil? That the 
ladies’ summer hats, however, should be lined with 
black, as not reverberating on their faces, those rays 
which are reflected upwards from the earth or water ? 
That the putting a white cap of paper or linen within 
the crown of a black hat, as some do, will not keep out 
the heat, though it would if placed without? That 
fruit walls, being blacked, may receive so much heat 
from the sun in the daytime as to continue warm in 
some degree through the night, and thereby preserve 
the fruit from frosts, or forward its growth? — with 
sundry other particulars of less or greater importance, 
that will occur from time to time to attentive minds. 


270 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Effect of Air on the Barometer — 

The Study of Insects 

Craven Street, June 11, 1760 

’Tis a very sensible question yon ask; How can tbe 
air affect tbe barometer when its opening appears cov¬ 
ered with wood ? If indeed it was so closely covered as 
to admit of no communication of tbe outward air to tbe 
surface of tbe mercury, tbe change of weight in tbe 
air could not possibly affect it. But tbe least crevice 
is sufficient for tbe purpose; a pin bole will do tbe 
business. And if you could look behind tbe frame to 
which your barometer is fixed, you would certainly find 
some small opening. 

There are indeed some barometers in which tbe body 
of mercury at tbe lower end is contained in a close 
leather bag, and so tbe air cannot come into immediate 
contact with tbe mercury; yet tbe same effect is pro¬ 
duced. Eor tbe leather being flexible, when tbe bag 
is pressed by any additional weight of air, it contracts, 
and tbe mercury is forced up into tbe tube; when tbe 
air becomes lighter and its pressure less, tbe weight 
of tbe mercury prevails, and it descends again into 
tbe bag. 

Your observation on what you have lately read con¬ 
cerning insects is very just and solid. Superficial minds 
are apt to despise those who make that part of tbe 
creation their study, as mere triflers; but certainly the 
world has been much obliged to them. Under tbe care 
and management of man, tbe labors of tbe little silk¬ 
worm afford employment and subsistence to thousands 
of families and become an immense article of com¬ 
merce. Tbe bee, too, yields us its delicious honey, and 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 


271 


its wax useful to a multitude of purposes. Another 
insect, it is said, produces the cochineal, from whence 
we have our rich scarlet dye. The usefulness of the 
cantharides, or Spanish flies, in medicine, is known to 
all, and thousands owe their lives to that knowledge. 
By human industry and observation other properties 
of other insects may possibly be hereafter discovered, 
and of equal utility. A thorough acquaintance with the 
nature of these little creatures may also enable man¬ 
kind to prevent the increase of such as are noxious, or 
secure us against the mischiefs they occasion. 

These things doubtless your hooks make mention of. 
I can only add a particular late instance which I had 
from a Swedish gentleman of good credit. In the green 
timber intended for shipbuilding at the king’s yard in 
that country, a kind of worms were found which every 
year became more numerous and more pernicious, so 
that the ships were greatly damaged before they came 
into use. The king sent Linnaeus, the great naturalist, 
from Stockholm, to inquire into the affair and see if 
the mischief was capable of any remedy. He found 
on examination that the worm was produced from a 
small egg, deposited in the little roughnesses on the 
surface of the wood, by a particular kind of fly Pr beetle; 
from whence the worm, as soon as it was hatched, be¬ 
gan to eat into the substance of the wood, and after 
some time, came out again a fly of the parent kind, and 
so the species increased. The season in which the fly 
laid its eggs Linnaeus knew to he about a fortnight (I 
think) in the month of May, and at no other time in 
the year. He therefore advised that some days before 
that season all the green timber should be thrown into 
the water and kept under water until the season was 
over. Which being done by the king’s order, the flies, 


272 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


missing the usual nests, could not increase; and the 
species was either destroyed or went elsewhere, and the 
wood was effectually preserved; for after the first year 
it became too dry and hard for their purpose. 

There is, however, a prudent moderation to be used 
in studies of this kind. The knowledge of nature may 
be ornamental, and it may be useful; but if, to attain 
an eminence in that, we neglect the knowledge and 
practice of essential duties, we deserve reprehension. 
Eor there is no rank in natural knowledge of equal dig¬ 
nity and importance with that of being a good parent, 
a good child, a good husband or wife, a good neighbor 
or friend, a good subject or citizen — that is, in short, 
a good Christian. Nicholas Gimcrack, 2 therefore, who 
neglected the care of his family to pursue butterflies, 
was a just object of ridicule, and we must give him up 
as fair game to the satirist. 

2 A character in The Virtuoso , a seventeenth-century play which 
made fun of scientists. 



LETTERS OE A RADIO ENGINEER 
TO HIS SON 1 

by John Mills 

It is amazing to think of the knowledge of the nature of 
electricity and its use today as compared with the time of 
Benjamin Franklin. Every household now uses electrical in¬ 
ventions of all sorts which would have delighted the heart of 
the man who insisted that all scientific work should have a 
practical application. Wouldn’t Franklin have reveled in ex¬ 
periments with electric engines, trolley cars, telephone and 
telegraph, radio, vacuum cleaners, washing machines, electric 
stoves, electric lights, electric welders, and so on? Perhaps if 
he were living today we would be even farther advanced in 
electrical science, although it seems as if he lived at just the 
right time to start us along the line of investigation in this 
field. Nowadays every girl and boy knows more about elec¬ 
tricity than Franklin did and handles it oftener than he did. 

In these letters that follow, the nature of electricity is given 
so far as we know it; and by contrasting them with the letters 
of Franklin, we can judge of the advance made in the cen¬ 
tury since he lived. They were written by the author for his 
own son and are so clear that they are understandable even 
to the youth who does not have his own radio set to tinker 
with. The words are so simple that no definitions are needed, 
and the author has used homely, colloquial words — a custom 
very common with many good writers. 

John Mills is an electrical engineer who is now working 
with the Western Electric Company. He was born in Chicago 
in 1880; and after studying at the University of Chicago, the 
University of Nebraska, and the Massachusetts Institute of 
Technology, he taught for some years. Since 1911 he has been 
engaged in research work. 

1 From Letters of a Radio Engineer to his Son. Harcourt, Brace. 


274 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


I. Electricity and Matter 
My dear Son: 

You are interested in radio-telephony and want 
me to explain it to you. I’ll do so in the shortest and 
easiest way which I can devise. The explanation will 
be the simplest which I can give and still make it possi¬ 
ble for you to build and operate your own set and to 
understand the operation of the large commercial sets 
to which you will listen. 

I’ll write you a series of letters which will contain 
only what is important in the radio of today and those 
ideas which seem necessary if you are to follow the 
rapid advances which radio is making. Some of the 
letters you will find to require a second reading and 
study. In the case of a few you might postpone a 
second reading until you have finished those which in¬ 
terest you most. . . . 

All the letters will be written just as I would talk 
to you, for I shall draw little sketches as I go along. 
One of them will tell you how to experiment for your¬ 
self. This will be the most interesting of all. You 
can find plenty of books to tell you how radio sets oper¬ 
ate and what to do, but very few except some for ad¬ 
vanced students tell you how to experiment for yourself. 
Not to waste time in your own experiments, however, 
you will need to be quite familiar with the ideas of 
the other letters. 

What is a radio set? Copper wires, tin foil, glass 
plates, sheets of mica, metal, and wood. Where does 
it get its ability to work — that is, where does the 
“ energy” come from which runs the set? From bat¬ 
teries or from dynamos. That much you know already, 
but what is the real reason that we can use copper 


LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


275 


wires, metal plates, audions, crystals, and batteries to 
send messages and to receive them? 

Tbe reason is that all these things are made of little 
specks, too tiny ever to see, which we might call “ specks 
of electricity.” There are only two kinds of specks, 
and we had better give them their right names at once 
to save time. One kind of speck is called “electron” 
and the other kind “ proton.” How do they differ ? 
They probably differ in size, but we don’t yet know so 
very much about their sizes. They differ in laziness 
a great deal. One is about 1845 times as lazy as the 
other; that is, it has eighteen hundred and forty-five 
times as much inertia as the other. It is harder to 
get it started, but it is just as much harder to get it 
to stop after it is once started or to change its direction 
and go a different direction. The proton has the larger 
inertia. It is the electron which is the easier to start 
or stop. 

How else do they differ? They differ in their ac¬ 
tions. Protons don’t like to associate with other pro¬ 
tons but take quite keenly to electrons. And electrons 
— they go with protons, but they won’t associate with 
each other. An electron always likes to be close to a 
proton. Two is company when one is an electron and 
the other a proton but three is a crowd always. 

It doesn’t make any difference to a proton what elec¬ 
tron it is keeping company with provided only it is an 
electron and not another proton. All electrons are alike 
as far as we can tell, and so are all protons. That means 
that all the stuff, or matter, of our world is made up 
of two kinds of building blocks, and all the blocks of 
each kind are just alike. Of course, you mustn’t think 
of these blocks as like bricks, for we don’t know their 
shapes. 


276 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

Then there is another reason why you must not think 
of them as bricks and that is because when you build a 
house out of bricks each brick must rest on another. 
Between an electron and any other electron or between 
two protons or between an electron and a proton there 
is usually a relatively enormous distance. There is 
enough space so that lots of other electrons or protons 
could he fitted in between if only they were willing to 
get that close together. 

Sometimes they do get very close together. I can 
tell you how if you will imagine four small hoys playing 
tag. Suppose Tom and Dick don’t like to play with 
each other and run away from each other if they can. 
Now suppose that Bill and Sam won’t play with each 
other if they can help it hut that either of them will 
play with Tom or Dick whenever there is a chance. 
Now suppose Tom and Bill see each other; they start 
running toward each other to get up some sort of a 
game. But Sam sees Tom at the same time, so he 
starts running to join him even though Bill is going 
to he there too. Meanwhile Dick sees Bill and Sam run¬ 
ning along; and since they are his natural playmates, 
he follows them. In a minute they are all together and 
playing a great game, although some of the hoys don’t 
like to play together. 

Whenever there is a group of protons and electrons 
playing together, we have what we call an u atom.” 
There are about ninety different games which electrons 
and protons can play, that is, ninety different kinds of 
atoms. These games differ in the number of electrons 
and protons who play and in the way they arrange 
themselves. Larger games can he formed if a number 
of atoms join together. Then there is a “ molecule.” 
Of molecules there are as many kinds as there are dif- 



LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


277 


ferent substances in tbe world. It takes a lot of mole¬ 
cules together to form something big enough to see; for 
even the largest molecule, that of starch, is much too 
small to be seen by itself with the best possible micro¬ 
scope. 

What sort of a molecule is formed will depend upon 
how many and what kinds of atoms group together to 
play the larger game. Whenever there is a big game 
it doesn’t mean that the little atomic groups which 
enter into it are all changed around. They keep to¬ 
gether like a group of boy scouts in a grand picnic in 
which lots of troops are present. At any rate they 
keep together enough so that we can still call them a 
group, that is an atom, even though they do adapt their 
game somewhat so as to fit in with other groups — that 
is with other atoms. 

What will the kind of atom depend on? It will de¬ 
pend upon how many electrons and protons are grouped 
together in it to play their little game. How any atom 
behaves so far as associating with other groups or atoms 
will depend upon what sort of a game its own electrons 
and protons are playing. 

How the simplest kind of a game that can be played, 
and the one with the smallest number of electrons and 
protons, is that played by a single proton and a single 
electron. I don’t know just how it is played, but I 
should guess that they chase each other around in cir¬ 
cles, so to speak. At any rate, I do know that the atom 
called u hydrogen ” is formed by just one proton and 
one electron. Suppose they were magnified until they 
were as large as the moon and the earth. Then they 
would be just about as far apart, but the smaller one 
would be the proton. 

That hydrogen atom is responsible for lots of inter- 


278 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


esting tilings for it is a great one to join with other 
atoms. We don’t often find it by itself, although we 
can make it change its partners and go from one mole¬ 
cule to another very easily. That is what happens 
every time you stain anything with acid. A hydrogen 
atom leaves a molecule of the acid, and then it isn’t 
acid any more. What remains isn’t a happy group 
either, for it has lost some of its playfellows. The hy¬ 
drogen goes and joins with the stuff which gets stained. 
But it doesn’t join with the whole molecule; it picks 
out part of it to associate with and that leaves the 
other part to take the place of the hydrogen in the 
original molecule of acid from which it came. Many 
of the actions which we call “ chemistry ” are merely 
the result of such changes of atoms from one molecule 
to another. 

Not only does the hydrogen atom like to associate in 
a larger game with other kinds of atoms hut it likes to 
do so with one of its own kind. When it does, we have 
a molecule of hydrogen gas, the same gas as is used in 
balloons. 

We haven’t seemed to get very far yet toward radio, 
but you can see how we shall when I tell you that next 
time I shall write of more complicated games such as 
are played in the atoms of copper which form the wires 
of radio sets and of how these wires can do what we 
call “ carrying an electric current.” 

II. Why a Copper Wire Will Conduct Electricity 
My dear young Atomist : 

You have learned that the simplest group which can 
be formed by protons and electrons is one proton and 
one electron chasing each other around in a fast game. 




LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


279 


This group is called an “ atom of hydrogen.” A mole¬ 
cule of hydrogen is two of these groups together. 

All the other possible kinds of groups are more com¬ 
plicated. The next simplest is that of the atom of 
helium. Helium is a gas of which small quantities are 
obtained from certain oil wells, and there isn’t very 
much of it to he obtained. It is an inert gas, as we 
call it, because it won’t burn or combine with anything 
else. It doesn’t care to enter into the larger games of 
molecular groups. It is satisfied to be as it is, so that 
it isn’t much use in chemistry, because you can’t make 
anything else out of it. That’s the reason why it is 
so highly recommended for filling balloons or airships, 
because it cannot burn nor explode. It is not as light as 
hydrogen, but it serves quite well for making balloons 
buoyant in air. 

This helium atom is made up of four electrons and 
four protons. Right at the center there is a small 
closely crowded group which contains all the protons 
and two of the electrons. The other two electrons play 
around quite a little way from this inner group. It 
will make our explanations easier if we learn to call this 
inner group u the nucleus ” of the atom. It is the 
center of the atom, and the other two electrons play 
around about it just as the earth and Mars and the 
other planets play or revolve about the sun as a center. 
That is why we shall call these two electrons “ planetary 
electrons.” 

There are about ninety different kinds of atoms, and 
they all have names. Some of them are more familiar 
than hydrogen and helium. For example, there is the 
iron atom, the copper atom, the sulphur atom, and so 
on. Some of these atoms you ought to know, and so, 
before telling you more of how atoms are formed by 


280 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


protons and electrons, I am going to write down the 
names of some of the atoms which we have in the earth 
and rocks of our world, in the water of the oceans, and 
in the air above. 

Start first with air. It is a mixture of several kinds 
of gases. Each gas is a different kind of atom. There 
is just a slight trace of hydrogen and a very small 
amount of helium and of some other gases which I 
won’t bother you with learning. Most of the air, how¬ 
ever, is nitrogen, about 78 per cent in fact and almost 
all the rest is oxygen. About 20.8 per cent is oxygen, 
so that all the gases other than these two make up only 
about 1.2 per cent of the atmosphere in which we live. 

The earth and rocks also contain a great deal of oxy¬ 
gen; about 47.3 per cent of the atoms which form earth 
and rocks are oxygen atoms. About half of the rest 
of the atoms are of a kind called u silicon.” Sand is 
made up of atoms of silicon and oxygen, and you know 
how much sand there is. About 27.7 per cent of the 
earth and its rocks is silicon. The next most impor¬ 
tant kind of atom in the earth is aluminum and after 
that iron and then calcium. Here is the way they 
run in percentages: aluminum 7.8 per cent; iron 4.5 
per cent; calcium 3.5 per cent; sodium 2.4 percent; 
potassium 2.4 per cent; magnesium 2.2 per cent. Be¬ 
sides these which are the most important there is about 
0.2 per cent of hydrogen and the same amount of carbon. 
Then there is a little phosphorus, a little sulphur, a little 
fluorine, and small amounts of all of the rest of the 
different kinds of atoms. 

Sea water is mostly oxygen and hydrogen, about 85.8 
per cent of oxygen and 10.7 per cent of hydrogen. That 
is what you would expect for water is made up of 
molecules which in turn are formed by two atoms of 


LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


281 


hydrogen and one atom of oxygen. The oxygen atom 
is about sixteen times as heavy as the hydrogen atom. 
However, for every oxygen atom there are two hydro¬ 
gen atoms, so that for every pound of hydrogen in 
water there are about eight pounds of oxygen. That 
is why there is about eight times as high a percentage 
of oxygen in sea water as there is of hydrogen. 

Most of sea water, therefore, is just water, that is, 
pure water. But it contains some other substances 
as well, and the best known of these is salt. Salt is 
a substance the molecules of which contain atoms of 
sodium and of chlorine. That is why sea water is 
about 1.1 per cent sodium and about 2.1 per cent chlo¬ 
rine. There are some other kinds of atoms in sea water, 
as you would expect, for it gets all the substances which 
the waters of the earth dissolve and carry down to it 
but they are unimportant in amounts. 

Now we know something about the names of the 
important kinds of atoms and can take up again the 
question of how they are formed by protons and elec¬ 
trons. No matter what kind of atom we are dealing 
with we always have a nucleus or center and some 
electrons playing around that nucleus like tiny plan¬ 
ets. The only differences between one kind of atom 
and any other kind are differences in the number and 
arrangement of the planetary electrons which are play¬ 
ing about the nucleus. 

No matter what kind of atom we are considering, 
there is always in it just as many electrons as protons. 
Bor example, the iron atom is formed by a nucleus and 
twenty-six electrons playing around it. The copper 
atom has twenty-nine electrons as tiny planets to its 
nucleus. What does that mean about its nucleus ? That 
there are twenty-nine more protons in the nucleus than 


282 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


there are electrons. Silver has even more planetary 
electrons, for it has 47. Radium has 88 and the heavi¬ 
est atom of all, that of uranium, has 92. 

We might use numbers for the different kinds of 
atoms instead of names if we wanted to do so. We 
could describe any kind of atom by telling how many 
planetary electrons there were in it. For example, 
hydrogen would he number 1; helium, number 2; 
lithium, of which you perhaps never heard, would he 
number 3, and so on. Oxygen is 8; sodium is 11; chlo¬ 
rine is 17; iron, 26; and copper, 29. For each kind of 
atom there is a number. Let’s call that number its 
atomic number. 

How let’s see what the atomic number tells us. Take 
copper, for example, which is number 29. In each 
atom of copper there are 29 electrons playing around 
the nucleus. The nucleus itself is a little inner group 
of electrons and protons, hut there are more protons 
than electrons in it; twenty-nine more in fact. In an 
atom there is always an extra proton in the nucleus for 
each planetary electron. That makes the total number 
of protons and electrons the same. 

About the nucleus of a copper atom there are playing 
twenty-nine electrons just as if the nucleus was a 
teacher responsible for twenty-nine children who were 
out in the play yard. There is one very funny thing 
about it all, however, and that is that we must think 
of the scholars as if they were all just alike so that 
the teacher could not tell one from the other. Elec¬ 
trons are all alike, you remember. All the teacher or 
nucleus cares for is that there shall be just the right 
number playing around her. You could bring a hoy 
in from some other playground and the teacher couldn’t 
' tell that he was a stranger, hut she would know that 


LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


283 


something was the matter, for there would be one too 
many in her group. She is responsible for just twenty- 
nine scholars, and the nucleus of the copper atom is 
responsible for just twenty-nine electrons. It doesn't 
make any difference where these electrons come from, 
provided there are always just twenty-nine playing 
around the nucleus. If there are more or less than 
twenty-nine, something peculiar will happen. 

We shall see later what might happen, but first let's 
think of an enormous lot of atoms such as there would 
,be in a copper wire. A small copper wire will have 
in it billions of copper atoms, each with its planetary 
electrons playing their invisible game about their own 
nucleus. There is quite a little distance in any atom 
between the nucleus and any of the electrons for which 
it is responsible. There is usually a greater distance 
still between one atomic group and any other. 

On the whole the electrons hold pretty close to their 
own circles about their own nuclei. There is always 
some tendency to run away and play in some other 
group. With twenty-nine electrons it's no wonder if 
sometimes one goes wandering off and finally gets into 
the game about some other nucleus. Of course, an elec¬ 
tron from some other atom may come wandering along 
and take the place just left vacant, so that nucleus is 
satisfied. 

We don't know all we might about how the electrons 
wander around from atom to atom inside a copper 
wire, hut we do know that there are always lots 
of them moving about in the spaces between the 
atoms. Some of them are going one way and some 
another. 

It's these wandering electrons which are affected 
when a battery is connected to a copper wire. Every 


284 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

single electron winch is away from its home group and 
wandering around is sent scampering along toward the 
end of the wire, which is connected to the positive plate 
or terminal of the battery and away from the negative 
plate. That’s what the battery does to them for being 
away from home; it drives them along the wire. 
There’s a regular stream or procession of them from 
the negative end of the wire toward the positive. When 
we have a stream of electrons like this, we say we have 
a current of electricity. 

Y. Getting Electrons from a Heated Wire 
Dear Son: 

I was pleased to get your letter and its questions. 
Yes, a proton is a speck of electricity of the kind we 
call “ positive ” and an electron is of the kind we call 
“ negative.” You might remember this simple law: 
“ Like kinds of electricity repel, and unlike at¬ 
tract.” . . . 

Yes, it is hard to think of a smooth piece of metal 
or wire as full of holes. Even in the densest solids 
like lead the atoms are quite far apart, and there are 
larger spaces between the nuclei and the planetary 
electrons of each atom. 

I hope this clears up the questions, for I want to get 
along to the vacuum tube. By a vacuum we mean a 
space which has very few atoms or molecules in it, 
just as few as we can possibly get, with the best meth¬ 
ods of pumping and exhausting. Eor the present let’s 
suppose that we can get all the gas molecules, that is, 
all the air, out of a little glass bulb. 

The audion is a glass bulb like an electric light bulb, 
which has in it a thread, or filament, of metal. The 



LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


285 


ends of this filament extend out through the glass, so 
that we may connect a battery to them and pass a cur¬ 
rent of electricity through the wire. If we do so, the 
wire gets hot. 

What do we mean when we say “ the wire gets hot ” ? 
We mean that it feels hot. It heats the glass bulb, and 
we can feel it. But what do we mean in words of 
electrons and atoms? To answer this we must start 
back a little way. 

In every hit of matter in our world the atoms and 
molecules are in very rapid motion. In gases they can 
move anywhere, and do. That’s why odors travel so 
fast. In liquids most of the molecules or atoms have to 
do their moving without getting out of the dish or 
above the surface. ]Not all of them stay in, however, 
for some are always getting away from the liquid and 
going out into the air above. That is why a dish of 
water will dry up so quickly. The faster the mole¬ 
cules are going the better chance they have of jumping 
clear away from the water like fish jumping in the 
lake at sundown. Heating the liquid makes its mole¬ 
cules move faster and so more of them are able to 
jump clear of the rest of the liquid. That’s why when 
we come in wet we hang our clothes where they will 
get warm. The water in them evaporates more quickly 
when it is heated, because all we mean by “ heating ” 
is speeding up the molecules. 

In a solid body the molecules can’t get very far away 
from where they start, but they keep moving back and 
forth and around and around. The hotter the body 
is, the faster are its molecules moving. Generally they 
move a little farther when the body is hot than when 
it is cold. That means they must have a little more 
room, and that is why a body is larger when hot than 


286 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


when cold. It expands with heating because its mole¬ 
cules are moving more rapidly and slightly farther. 

When the wire is heated, its molecules and atoms 
are hurried up and they dash back and forth faster than 
before. Now you know that a wire, like a filament of 
a lamp, gets hot when the “ electricity is turned on,” 
that is, when there is a stream of electrons passing 
through it. Why does it get hot? Because when the 
electrons stream through it they hump and jostle their 
way along like rude boys on a crowded sidewalk. The 
atoms have to step a hit more lively to keep out of the 
way. These more rapid motions of the atoms we recog¬ 
nize by the wire growing hotter. 

That is why an electric current heats a wire through 
which it is flowing. Now what happens to the elec¬ 
trons, the rude boys who are dodging their way along 
the sidewalk? Some of them are going so fast and so 
carelessly that they will have to dodge out into the 
gutter and off the sidewalk entirely. The more hoys 
that are rushing along and the faster they are going 
the more of them will be turned aside and plunge off 
the sidewalks. 

The greater and faster the stream of electrons — that 
is, the more current which is flowing through the 
wire — the more electrons will he “ emitted,” that is, 
thrown out of the wire. If you could watch them you 
would see them shooting out of the wire, here, there, 
and all along its length, and going in every direction. 
The number which shoot out each second isn’t very 
large until they have stirred things up so that the wire 
is just about red hot. 

What becomes of them? Sometimes they don’t get 
very far away from the wire and so come back inside 
again. They scoot off the sidewalk and on again just 


LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


287 


as boys do in dodging their way along. Some of them 
start away as if they were going for good. 

If the wire is in a vacuum tube, as it is in the case 
of the audion, they can’t get very far away. Of course, 
there is lots of room; but they are going so fast that 
they need more room just as older boys who run fast 
need a larger playground than do the little tots. By 
and by there gets to be so many of them outside that 
they have to dodge each other, and some of them are 
always dodging back into the wire while new electrons 
are shooting out from it. 

When there are just as many electrons dodging back 
into the wire each second as are being emitted from it, 
the vacuum in the tube has all the electrons it can 
hold. We might say it is “ saturated” with electrons, 
which means, in slang, “ full up.” If any more elec¬ 
trons are to get out of the filament, just as many others 
which are already outside have to go back inside. Or 
else they have got to be taken away somewhere else. 

What I have just told you about electrons getting 
away from a heated wire is very much like what hap¬ 
pens when a liquid is heated. The molecules of the 
liquid get away from the surface. If we cover a dish 
of liquid which is being heated, the liquid molecules 
can’t get far away, and very soon the space between 
the surface of the liquid and the cover gets saturated 
with them. Then every time another molecule escapes 
from the surface of the liquid, there must be some 
molecule which goes back into the liquid. There is then 
just as much condensation back into the liquid as there 
is evaporation from it. That’s why in cooking they 
put covers over the vessels when they don’t want the 
liquid all to “ boil away.” 

Sometimes we speak of the vacuum tube in the same 


288 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


words we would use in describing evaporation of a 
liquid. The molecules of the liquid which have es¬ 
caped form what is called a “ vapor ” of the liquid. As 
you know, there is usually considerable water vapor in 
the air. We say then that electrons are “ boiled out ” 
of the filament and that there is a “ vapor of electrons ” 
in the tube. 

That is enough for this letter. INext time I shall 
tell you how use is made of these electrons which have 
been boiled out and are free in the space around the 
filament. 

VI. The Atjdion 

Dear Son: 

In my last letter I told how electrons are boiled out 
of a heated filament. The hotter the filament the more 
electrons are emitted each second. If the temperature 
is kept steady, or constant, as we say, then there are 
emitted each second just the same number of electrons. 
When the filament is enclosed in a vessel or glass bulb, 
these electrons which get free from it cannot go very 
far away. Some of them, therefore, have to come back 
to the filament, and the number which returns each 
second is just equal to the number which is leaving. 
You realize that this is what is happening inside an 
ordinary electric light bulb when its filament is being 
heated. 

An ordinary electric light bulb, however, is not an 
audion, although it is like one in the emission of elec¬ 
trons from its filament. That reminds me that last 
night as I was waiting for a train I picked up one of 
the Radio Supplements which so many newspapers are 
now running. There was a column of inquiries. One 
letter told how its writer had tried to use an ordinary 
electric light bulb to receive radio signals. 


LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


289 


He had plenty of electrons in it but no way to con¬ 
trol them and make their motion useful. In an audion, 
besides the filament, there are two other things. One 
is a little sheet or plate of metal 
with a connecting wire leading out 
through the glass walls, and the 
other is a little wire screen, shaped 
like a gridiron, and so called a 
“ grid/’ It also has a connecting 
wire leading through the glass. . . . 

It will he most convenient to rep¬ 
resent an audion as in Figure 1. 

There you see the filament, F, with 
its two terminals brought out from 
the tube, the plate, P, and between these the grid, Gr. 

These three parts of the tube are sometimes called 
“ elements.” Usually, however, 
they are called “electrodes,” and 
that is why the audion is spoken 
of as the “ three-electrode vacuum 
tube.” An electrode is what we 
call any piece of metal or wire 
which is so placed as to get at 
electrons (or ions) to control their 
motions. Let us see how it does so. 

To start with, we shall forget 
the grid and think of a tube with 
only a filament and a plate in it 
— a two-electrode tube. We shall 




Fig. 2 represent it as in Figure 2 and 

show the battery which heats the 
filament by some lines as at A. In this way of repre¬ 
senting a battery each cell is represented by a short, 
heavy line and a long lighter line. The heavy line 








290 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


stands for tlie negative plate and tlie longer line for tlie 
positive plate. We shall call the battery which heats 
the filament the “ filament battery ” or sometimes the 
“A -battery.” As you see, it is formed by several bat¬ 
tery cells connected in series. 

Sometime later I may tell yon how to connect bat¬ 
tery cells together and why. For the present all you 
need to remember is that two batteries are in series if 
the positive plate of one is connected to the negative 
plate of the other. If the batteries are alike, they will 
pull an electron just twice as hard as either could alone. 

To heat the filament of an audion, such as you will 
probably use in your set, will require three storage- 
battery cells, ... all connected in series. We gen¬ 
erally use storage batteries of about the same size as 
those in the automobile. If you will look at the auto¬ 
mobile battery, you will see that it is made of three 
cells connected in series. That battery would do very 
well for the filament circuit. 

By the way, do you know what a “ circuit ” is ? The 
word comes from the same Latin word as our word 
“ circus.” The Homans were very fond of chariot 
racing at their circuses and built race tracks round 
which the chariots could go. A circuit, therefore, is a 
path or track around which something can race, and 
an electrical circuit is a path around which electrons 
can race. The filament, the A-battery, and the con¬ 
necting wires of Figure 2 form a circuit. 

Let us imagine another battery formed by several 
cells in series which we shall connect to the tube as 
in Figure 3. All the positive and negative terminals 
of these batteries are connected in pairs, the positive 
of one cell to the negative of the next, except for one 
positive and one negative. The remaining positive 



LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


291 


terminal is tlie positive terminal of the battery which 
we are making by this series connection. We then 
connect this positive terminal to the plate and the nega¬ 
tive terminal to the filament as shown in the figure. 
This new battery we shall call the “ plate battery ” or 
the “ 5-battery.” 

Now what’s going to happen? The 5-battery will 
want to take in electrons at its positive terminal and 
to send them out at its negative terminal. The posi¬ 
tive is connected to the plate in the vacuum tube of the 
figure and so draws some of the electrons of the plate 
away from it. Where do these 
electrons come from? They used 
to belong to the atoms of the plate, 
but they were out playing in the 
space between the atoms, so that 
they came right along when the 
battery called them. That leaves 
the plate with less than its proper 
number of electrons; that is, leaves 
it positive. So the plate immediately draws to itself 
some of the electrons which are dodging about in the 
vacuum around it. 

Do you remember what was happening in the tube? 
The filament was steadily going on emitting electrons, 
although there were already in the tube so many elec¬ 
trons that just as many crowded back into the filament 
each second as the filament sent out. The filament was 
neither gaining nor losing electrons, although it was 
busy sending them out and welcoming them home 
again. 

When the 5-battery gets to work, all this is changed. 
The 5-battery attracts electrons to the plate and so 
reduces the crowd in the tube. Then there are not as 



t - 3 

Fig. 3 




292 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


many electrons crowding back into the filament as there 
were before, and so the filament loses more than it gets 
back. 

Suppose that, before tbe 5-battery was connected to 
the plate, each tiny length of filament was emitting 
1000 electrons each second but was getting 1000 back 
each second. There was no net change. Now, sup¬ 
pose that the 5-battery takes away 100 of these each 
second. Then only 900 get back to the filament, and 
there is a net loss from the filament of 100. Each second 
this tiny length of filament sends into the vacuum 100 
electrons which are taken out at the plate. From each 
little bit of filament there is a stream of electrons to 
the plate; that is, there is a current of electricity be¬ 
tween filament and plate and this current continues to 
flow as long as the A-battery and the 5-battery do their 
work. 

The negative terminal of the 5-battery is connected 
to the filament. Every time this battery pulls an elec¬ 
tron from the plate, its negative terminal shoves one 
out to the filament. You know from my third and 
fourth letters that electrons are carried through a bat¬ 
tery from its positive to its negative terminal. You 
see, then, that there is the same stream of electrons 
through the 5-battery as there is through the vacuum 
between filament and plate. This same stream passes 
also through the wires which connect the battery to the 
tube. The path followed by the stream of electrons in¬ 
cludes the wires, the vacuum and the battery in series. 
We call this path the “ plate circuit.” 

We can connect a telephone receiver, or a current¬ 
measuring instrument, or anything we wish which will 
pass a stream of electrons, so as to let this same stream 
of electrons pass through it also. All we have to do is 


LETTERS OF A RADIO ENGINEER 


293 


to connect the instrument in series with the other parts 
of the plate circuit. I’ll show you how in a minute, but 
just now I want you to understand that we have a 
stream of electrons, for I want to tell you how it may 
be controlled. 

Suppose we use another battery and connect it be¬ 
tween the grid and the filament so as to make the grid 
positive. That would mean connecting the positive 
terminal of the battery to the grid and the negative 
to the filament as shown by the 
(7-battery of Figure 4. This 
figure also shows a current¬ 
measuring instrument in the 
plate circuit. 

What effect is this (7-battery, 
or grid-battery, going to have 
on the current in the plate cir¬ 
cuit? Making the grid positive 
makes it want electrons. It will 
therefore act just as we saw that the plate did and pull 
electrons across the vacuum toward itself. 

What happens then is something like this: Electrons 
are freed at the filament; the plate and the grid both 
call them, and they start off in a rush. Some of them 
are stopped by the wires of the grid, hut most of them 
go on by to the plate. The grid is mostly open space, 
you know, and the electrons move as fast as lightning. 
They are going too fast in the general direction of the 
grid to stop and look for its few and small wires. 

When the grid is positive, the grid helps the plate 
to call electrons away from the filament. Making the 
grid positive, therefore, increases the stream of elec¬ 
trons between filament and plate; that is, increases the 
current in the plate circuit. 






294 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


We could get the same effect so far as concerns an in¬ 
creased plate current by using more batteries in series in 
the plate circuit so as to pull harder. But the grid is so 
close to the'filament that a single battery cell in the grid 
circuit can call electrons so strongly that it would take 
several extra battery cells in the plate circuit to pro¬ 
duce the same effect. 

If we reverse the grid battery, as in Figure 5, so as 
to make the grid negative, then, instead of attracting 
electrons the grid repels them. Nowhere near as many 
electrons will stream across to 
the plate when the grid says, 
“No, go back.” The grid is in 
a strategic position, and what it 
says has a great effect. 

When there is no battery con¬ 
nected to the grid, it has no 
possibility of influencing the 
electron stream which the plate 
is attracting to itself. We say, 
then, that the grid is uncharged or is at “zero poten¬ 
tial,” meaning that it is zero or nothing in possibility. 
But when the grid is charged, no matter how little, it 
makes a change in the plate current. When the grid 
says “ Come on,” even though very softly, it has as 
much effect on the electrons as if the plate shouted at 
them, and a lot of extra electrons rush for the plate. 
But when the grid whispers “ Go hack,” many electrons 
which would otherwise have gone streaking off to the 
plate crowd hack toward the filament. That’s how the 
audion works. There is an electron stream and a won¬ 
derfully sensitive way of controlling the stream. 



C - fj + - B * 


Fig. 5 






AGASSIZ AT PEJSTIKESE 1 

by David Starr Jordan 

Louis Agassiz was bom in Switzerland on May 28, 1807. 
His love of natural history showed itself when he was a little 
fellow, for he had a collection of fishes and all sorts of pets 
— birds, field mice, hares, rabbits, and guinea pigs — whose 
families he raised. When his father moved the family to 
Massachusetts in 1846, Louis was already a naturalist, a geolo¬ 
gist, and a zoologist of recognized ability. He had put forth 
a new and at that time incredible theory of an age of ice, 
when a large part of Europe and North America had been 
covered with snow. He lived to see this theory confirmed. 
America had been most fortunate in having a man like Benja¬ 
min Franklin to stimulate education in the early days of her 
history. He was followed in the next century by Agassiz, who 
gave to America a tremendous impetus toward the study of 
science. Agassiz was one of the greatest teachers of his time, 
and from 1850 through the seventies, every chair of zoology 
in American colleges was filled by a pupil of Agassiz. Through 
his enthusiasm, museums and laboratories, especially for the 
study of sea life, sprang up all over the country. In 1848 he 
accepted the chair of natural history at the Lawrence Scien¬ 
tific School in connection with Harvard University; and with 
the exception of a few years’ absence, he remained there the 
rest of his life, devoting his time to teaching, research, lectur¬ 
ing, and the promotion of the Museum of Comparative Zool¬ 
ogy. He died in 1873 and is buried at Mt. Auburn. The 
bowlder that is his monument came from the Glacier of the 
Aar, not far from where his hut once stood, and the pine trees 
planted beside it were sent from his old home in Switzerland. 

Among Agassiz’s pupils, none has contributed more to the 
advancement of science than David Starr Jordan, the author 
of the following paper, who is now emeritus chancellor of 

1 From Science Sketches. McClurg, 1896. 


296 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Leland Stanford University. Dr. Jordan was born in Gaines¬ 
ville, New York, in 1851, almost half a century after Agassiz. 
After graduating from Cornell University in 1872, he taught 
at various institutions, at the same time carrying on research 
work, being principally concerned with the geographical dis¬ 
tribution of the fishes of America, Europe, Alaska, West Indies, 
Hawaii, Japan, Philippines, and Samoa. He has also worked 
on the fossil fishes of California. He has held many positions 
of importance under the United States government which have 
had to do with the study of fish. In addition, Dr. Jordan has 
helped to promote peace, having been a member of the board 
of directors of the International School of Peace and the 
president of the World Peace Congress in 1915. The second 
summer of the Anderson School of Natural History at Peni- 
kese, Dr. Jordan was one of the lecturers. The summer be¬ 
fore, of which he writes, he had been a student of Agassiz. 

E VEN as late as 1873, when Agassiz died, the Mu¬ 
seum of Comparative Zoology (which he estab¬ 
lished) was almost the only school in America where 
the eager student of natural history could find the work 
he wanted. The colleges generally taught only the 
elements of any of the sciences. Twenty years ago 
original research was scarcely considered as among the 
functions of the American college. Such investigators 
as America had were for the most part outside of the 
colleges or at the best carrying on their investigations in 
time stolen from the drudgery of the classroom. One 
of the greatest of American astronomers was kept for 
forty years teaching algebra and geometry, with never 
a student far enough advanced to realize the real work 
of his teacher; and this case was typical of hundreds be¬ 
fore the university spirit was kindled in American 
schools. That this spirit was kindled in Harvard forty 
years ago was due in the greatest measure to Agassiz’s 
influence. It was here that graduate instruction in 
science in America practically began. In an important 


AGASSIZ AT PENIKESE 


297 


sense the Museum of Comparative Zoology was the 
first American university. 

Notwithstanding the great usefulness of the museum 
and the broad influence of its teachers, Agassiz was not 
satisfied. The audience he reached was still too small. 
Throughout the country the great body of teachers of 
science went on in the old mechanical way. On these he 
was able to exert no influence. The boys and girls still 
kept up the humdrum recitations from worthless text¬ 
books. They got their lessons from the book, recited 
them from memory, and no more came into contact with 
Nature than they would if no animals or plants or 
rocks existed on this side of the planet Jupiter. It was 
to remedy this state of things that Agassiz conceived in 
1872 the idea of a scientific “ camp meeting/’ where 
the workers and the teachers might meet together — a 
summer school of observation, where the teachers should 
be trained to see Nature for themselves and teach others 
how to see it. 

The first plan suggested was that of calling the 
teachers of the country together for a summer outing on 
the island of Nantucket. Before the site was chosen, 
Mr. John Anderson, a wealthy tobacco merchant in 
New York City, offered to Agassiz the use of his 
island of Penikese and an endowment of fifty thousand 
dollars in money, if he would permanently locate this 
scientific u camp meeting” on the island. To this gift 
Mr. C. W. Galloupe of Boston added the use of his large 
yacht, the Sprite. Thus was founded the Anderson 
School of Natural History on the island of Penikese. 

Penikese is a little island containing about sixty acres 
of very rocky ground, a pile of stones with intervals of 
soil. It is the last and the least of the Elizabeth Is¬ 
lands, lying to the south of Buzzard’s Bay, on the south 


298 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


coast of Massachusetts. The whole cluster was once a 
great terminal moraine of rocks and rubbish of all sorts, 
brought down from the mainland by some ancient 
glacier, and by it dropped into the ocean olf the heel 
of Cape Cod. The sea has broken up the moraine into 
eight little islands by wearing tide channels between 
hill and hill. The names of these islands are recorded 
in the jingle which the children of that region learn 
before they go to school: 

Naushon, Nonamesset, Uncatena, and Wepecket, 
Nashawena, Pesquinese, Cuttyhunk, and Penikese. 

And Penikese, last and smallest of them, lies a little 
forgotten speck out in the ocean, eighteen miles south 
of New Bedford. It contained two hills, joined together 
by a narrow isthmus, a little harbor, a farmhouse, a 
flagstaff, a barn, a willow tree, and a flock of sheep. 
And here Agassiz founded his school. This was in the 
month of June of the year 1873. 

From the many hundred applicants who sent in their 
names as soon as the plan was made public Agassiz chose 
fifty — about thirty men and twenty women — teach¬ 
ers, students, and naturalists of various grades from 
all parts of the country. This practical recognition of 
coeducation was criticized by many of Agassiz’s friends, 
trained in the monastic schools of New England; hut 
the results justified his decision. It was his thought 
that these fifty teachers should he trained as well as 
might be in right methods of work. They should carry 
into their schools his own views of scientific teaching. 
Then each of these schools would become in its time a 
center of help to others, until the influence toward real 
work in science should spread throughout our educa¬ 
tional system. 

None of us will ever forget his first sight of Agassiz. 


AGASSIZ AT PENIKESE 


299 


We had come down from New Bedford in a little tug¬ 
boat in the early morning, and Agassiz met us at the 
landing place on the island. He was standing almost 
alone on the little wharf, and his great face beamed 
with pleasure. For this summer school, the thought 
of his old age, might be the crowning work of his life¬ 
time. Who could foresee what might come from the 
efforts of fifty men and women, teachers of science, 
each striving to do his work in the most rational way ? 
His thoughts and hopes rose to expectations higher than 
any of us then understood. 

His tall, robust figure, his broad shoulders bending 
a little under the weight of years, his large round face 
lit up by kindly dark-brown eyes, his cheery smile, 
the enthusiastic tones of his voice, his rolling gait, like 
that of u a man who had walked much over ploughed 
ground ” — all these entered into our first as well as 
our last impressions of Agassiz. He greeted us with 
great warmth as we landed. He looked into our faces 
to justify himself in making choice of us among the 
many whom he might have chosen. . . . 

The old barn on the island had been hastily converted 
into a dining hall and lecture room. A new floor had 
been put in; hut the doors and walls remained un¬ 
changed, and the swallows’ nests were undisturbed un¬ 
der the eaves. The sheep had been turned out, the 
horse stalls were changed to a kitchen, and on the floor 
of the barn, instead of a hay wagon, were placed three 
long tables. At the head of one of these sat Agassiz. 
At his right hand always stood a movable blackboard, 
for he seldom spoke without a piece of chalk in his 
hand. He would often give us a lecture while we sat 
at the table, frequently about some fish or other crea¬ 
ture the remains of which still lay on our plates. 


300 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


Our second day upon the island was memorable 
above all others. Its striking incident has passed into 
literature in the poem of Whittier, “ The Prayer of 
Agassiz.” 

When the morning meal was over, Agassiz rose in his 
place and spoke, as only he could speak, of his purpose 
in calling us together. The swallows flew in and out 
of the building in the soft June air, for they did not 
know that it was no longer a barn, but a temple. Some 
of them almost grazed his shoulder as he spoke to us of 
the needs of the people for truer education. He told us 
how these needs could be met and of the results which 
might come to America from the training and consecra¬ 
tion of fifty teachers. This was to him no ordinary 
school, still less an idle summer’s outing, but a mission 
work of the greatest importance. He spoke with in¬ 
tense earnestness, and all his words were filled with 
that deep religious feeling so characteristic of his 
mind. For to Agassiz each natural object was a thought 
of God, and trifling with God’s truth as expressed in 
Hature was the basest of sacrilege. 

What Agassiz said that morning can never be said 
again. USTo reporter took his language, and no one could 
call back the charm of his manner or the impressive¬ 
ness of his zeal and faith. At the end he said, “ I 
would not have any man to pray for me now,” and that 
he and each of us would utter his own prayer in silence. 
What he meant by this was that no one could pray in 
his stead. Ho public prayer could take the place of the 
prayer which each of us would frame for himself. 
Whittier says: 

Even the careless heart was moved, 

And the doubting gave assent 
With a gesture reverent 
To the Master well beloved. 


AGASSIZ AT PENIKESE 


301 


As thin mists are glorified 
By the light they cannot hide, 

All who gazed upon him saw, 

Through its veil of tender awe, 

How his face was still uplit 
By the old sweet look of it, 

Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer 
And the love that casts out fear. 

And tlie summer went on, with its succession of joy¬ 
ous mornings, beautiful days, and calm nights, with 
every charm of sea and sky; the master with us all day 
long, ever ready to speak words of help and encourage¬ 
ment, ever ready to give us from his own stock of 
learning. The boundless enthusiasm which surrounded 
him like an atmosphere, and which sometimes gave 
the appearance of great achievement to the commonest 
things, was never lacking. He was always an optimist, 
and his strength lay largely in his realization of the 
value of the present moment. He was a living illustra¬ 
tion of the aphorism of Thoreau, that “ there is no 
hope for you unless the bit of sod under your feet is the 
sweetest in this world — in any world.” The thing he 
had in hand was the thing worth doing, and the men 
about him were the men worth helping. 

He was always picturesque in his words and his work. 
He delighted in the love and approbation of his students 
and his friends, and the influence of his personality 
sometimes gave his opinions weight beyond the value 
of the investigations on which they were based. With 
no other investigator have the work and the man been 
so identified as with Agassiz. Ho other of the great 
workers has been equally great as a teacher. His great¬ 
est work in science was his influence on other men. He 
was a constant stimulus and inspiration. 

In an old notebook of those days I find fragments of 
some of his talks to teachers at Penikese. Prom this 


302 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

notebook I take some paragraphs, just as I find them 
written there: 

u Lay aside all conceit. Learn to read the book of 
Nature for yourself. Those who have succeeded best 
have followed for years some slim thread which once in 
a while has broadened out and disclosed some treasure 
worth a life-long search.” 

“ A man cannot be professor of zoology in one day 
and of chemistry on the next, and do good work in both. * 
As in a concert all are musicians — one plays one in¬ 
strument, and one another, hut none all in perfection. 

u You cannot do without one specialty. You must 
have some base line to measure the work and attain¬ 
ments of others. For a general view of the subject, 
study the history of the sciences. Broad knowledge of 
all Nature has been the possession of no naturalist ex¬ 
cept Humboldt, and general relations constituted his 
specialty. ... 

“ In 1847 I gave an address at Newton, Massachu¬ 
setts, before a teachers’ institute conducted by Horace 
Mann. My subject was grasshoppers. I passed around 
a large jar of these insects and made every teacher 
take one and hold it while I was speaking. If any one 
dropped the insect, I stopped until he picked it up. This 
was at that time a great innovation and excited much 
laughter and derision. There can be no true progress in 
the teaching of natural science until such methods be¬ 
come general. . . .” 

“ The study of Nature is an intercourse with the 
highest mind. You should never trifle with Nature. At 
the lowest her works are the works of the highest 
powers, the highest something in whatever way we may 
look at it.” 

“A laboratory of natural history is a sanctuary 


AGASSIZ AT PENIKESE 


303 


where nothing profane should be tolerated. I feel less 
agony at improprieties in churches than in a scientific 
laboratory.” 

Of all these lectures the most valuable and the most 
charming were those on the glaciers. In these the mas¬ 
ter spoke, and every rock on our island was a mute 
witness to the truth of his words. Equally charming 
were the reminiscences of his early life and of his fel¬ 
low workers in science, Schimper and Braun in Munich, 
Valenciennes and the rest in Paris, and of the three 
men he acknowledged as masters, Cuvier, Humboldt, 
and Dollinger. “ I lived at Munich,” he once said, “ for 
three years under Dr. Dollinger’s roof, and my scientific 
training goes back to him and to him alone. . . ” 

Agassiz was essentially an idealist. All his investiga¬ 
tions were to him not studies of animals and plants as 
such hut of the divine plans of which their structures 
are the expression. The work of the student was to 
search out the thoughts of God, and as well as may be 
to think them over again. . . . He believed in the ab¬ 
solute freedom of science; that no power on earth can 
give answers beforehand to the questions which men of 
science endeavor to solve. . . . 

The strain of the summer was heavier than we knew. 
Before the school was closed for the season, those who 
were nearest him felt that the effort was to he his last. 
His physician told him that he must not work, must 
not think. But all his life he had done nothing else. 
To stop was impossible, for with his temperament 
there was the sole choice between activity and death. 

And in December the end came. In the words of one 
of his old students, Theodore Lyman, “ We buried him 
from the chapel that stands among the college elms. 
The students laid a wreath of laurel on his bier, and 


304 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

their manly voices sang a requiem. For he had been a 
student all his life long, and when he died, he was 
younger than any of them.” 

The next summer, the students of the first year came 
together at Penikese, and many eager new men were 
with them. ... Wise and skillful teachers were pres¬ 
ent; but Agassiz was not there, and the sense of loss 
was felt above everything else. We met one evening 
in the lecture hall, and each one said the best that he 
could of the Master. The words that lasted longest with 
us were these of Samuel Garman, that “ he was the best 
friend that ever student had.” There could be no 
truer word nor nobler epitaph. We put on the walls 
these mottoes, written on cloth, and taken from Agassiz’s 
lectures: 

STUDY NATURE, NOT BOOKS. 

BE NOT AFRAID TO SAF, “I DO NOT KNOW.” 
STRIVE TO INTERPRET WHAT REALLY EXISTS. 

A LABORATORY IS A SANCTUARY WHICH NOTH¬ 
ING PROFANE SHOULD ENTER. 

These mottoes remained for fifteen years on the walls 
of the empty building, whence they were carried as 
precious relics to the Laboratory at Woods Hole, which 
has been the lineal descendant of the school at Penikese. 

At the end of the summer the authorities of the mu¬ 
seum closed the doors of the Anderson School forever. 
They had no choice in the matter, for no college could 
he found which would spare the small sum needed for 
its maintenance. No rich man came forward as others 
had done in the past, men who would not stand by “ to 
see so brave a man struggle without aid.” For nearly 
twenty years the buildings stood in the island just as 


AGASSIZ AT PENIKESE 


305 


we had left them in 1874, an old sea captain in charge 
of them until the winter of 1891, when he was drowned 
in a storm. A year or two later the buildings were 
burned to the ground, perhaps by lightning. 

But while the island of Penikese is deserted, the im¬ 
pulse which came from Agassiz’s work there still lives 
and is felt in every field of American science. With all 
appreciation of the rich streams which in late years 
have come to us from many sources, and especially from 
the deep insight and resolute truthfulness of Germany, 
it is still true that the school of all schools which has 
had most influence on scientific teaching in America 
was held in an old barn on an uninhabited island some 
eighteen miles from the shore. It lasted but three 
months, and in effect it had but one teacher. The school 
at Penikese existed in the personal presence of Agassiz; 
when he died, it vanished! 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 1 

by Louis Agassiz 

Since Agassiz was bom and spent his youth in the land of 
glaciers, it is not surprising that he sought to solve the mys¬ 
tery of their formation and structure. For nine years he de¬ 
voted his summer vacations to excursions in the Alps, making 
experiments, measurements and observations. His studies of 
the effects of a glacier upon the surface of the earth led him to 
notice like effects in parts of Europe where there is now no 
ice whatever, and so, bit by bit, he accumulated evidence to 
show that at one time there had been a long cold period in 
the earth’s history. “ The world,” he said, “ is the geologist’s 
puzzle box; he stands before it like the child to whom the 
separate pieces of his puzzle remain a mystery till he detects 
their relation and sees where they fit, and then his fragments 
grow at once into a connected picture beneath his hand.” 

The age of ice came after a long period of tropical climate, 
when animals whose home is now near the equator roamed as 
far north and south as the Arctic and Antarctic Circles. The 
period of intense cold seems to have followed suddenly, so 
that many animals were embalmed in ice, to be found thou¬ 
sands of years later. 

To understand how glaciers affect a country, we must know 
something of their structure. When snow falls, the flakes 
remain rather far apart, making a light fluffy covering over 
the ground. Then if the sun comes out, or the temperature 
rises, there may be some melting, the water trickling down 
between the flakes which remain. Now at night this water 
in the cracks may freeze again making a more compact ice. 
The next day there may be more snow which again later may 
become compacted into a granular ice, each new layer press¬ 
ing upon the one beneath to make it still more solid. On a 
day when it does not snow, the wind may blow dust and 
1 From Glacial Sketches. Houghton Mifflin, 1890. 





ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


307 


debris of all sorts over the surface, so that, when next it 
snows, there will be a line of soil and small pebbles between 
the older ice and the new, or between the ice of one winter 
season and the next. Thus a glacier is built up of layer after 
layer of snow and ice, some harder than others, some full of 
dirt, some with chinks and crevices into which water may run. 
When we get a great mass of ice hundreds of feet thick, the 
pressure is tremendous upon the lower layers, which naturally 
spread out under it until the edges reach a climate where the 
ice melts and evaporates. This movement of a glacier is also 
helped on by the water which percolates through its crevices 
and there freezes. As water swells when it freezes, it pushes 
the ice out. 

Now any motion on the part of such a huge bulk as a gla¬ 
cier naturally scrapes and scratches the surface over which it 
passes, pushing some of the debris ahead of it as it goes and 
leaving mounds of broken rock and soil where it melts and 
•evaporates at the edges. Some of this accumulation com.es 
from the dirt collected on its surface in the upper layers which 
have gradually worked down, the result being that stones 
may rest at the foot of a glacier miles away from the place 
where they were taken on. Such debris is termed a moraine. 
Any geologist can see and interpret glacial scratching and 
can tell from the contour and soil of a region whether its 
humps and hollows and lakes have been gouged out by a 
moving glacier, and whether a mass of bowlders on a va ey 
floor have been dumped there by a receding mountain of ice. 
Agassiz was the first scientist to study the action of glaciers 
in America. 

I N' THE autumn of 1846, six years after my visit to 
Great Britain in search of glaciers, I sailed for 
America. When the steamer stopped at Halifax, eager 
to set foot on the new continent so full of promise for 
me, I sprang on shore and started at a brisk pace or 
the heights above the landing. On the first undis- 
turbed ground after leaving the town, I was met by the 
familiar signs, the polished surfaces, the furrows and 
scratches, the line engraving of the glacier, so wei 
known in the Old World; and I became convinced oi 


308 


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what I had already anticipated as the logical sequence 
of my previous investigations, that here also this great 
agent had been at work, although it was only after a 
long residence in America and repeated investigations 
of the glacial phenomena in various parts of the coun¬ 
try, that I fully understood the universality of its ac¬ 
tion. A detailed description of these appearances could 
hardly he more than a monotonous repetition of my 
statements respecting their existence in other regions; 
but the peculiar configuration of this continent, as 
compared with the more mountainous countries of 
Europe and Asia, has led to some modifications of the 
same phenomena here, worthy of special notice. 

Thus far, the traces of ancient glaciers in America 
have been studied only east of the Rocky Mountains; lit¬ 
tle is known of the glaciers still remaining in the high 
mountain ranges dividing the eastern part of the con¬ 
tinent from California, still less respecting any indica¬ 
tions of their former extension. There can he little 
doubt that such traces exist, and as soon as the so-called 
'paries between Pike’s Peak and Long Peak are explored, 
we may hope for information on this point. Indeed, 
the investigation may he spoken of as already under¬ 
taken; for among the exploring parties now on their 
way to that region are some intelligent observers who 
will not fail to make this point a subject of special 
study. But it is well khown that the usual character¬ 
istic marks of glaciers extend over the whole surface of 
the land in the eastern half of the continent, from the 
Atlantic shores to the states west of the Mississippi, and 
from the Arctic Sea to the latitude of the Ohio, in its 
middle course, while within the range of the Alleghenies 
they stretch as far south as Georgia and Alabama. In 
no other region where these traces have been observed do 

♦ 




ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


309 


they extend over such wide tracts of country in un¬ 
broken continuity, this being, of course, owing to the 
level character of the land itself. 

The continent of North America, east of the Rocky 
Mountains, is, indeed, an immense uniform plain, in¬ 
tersected from east to west only by the ranges of low 
hills running in the direction of the St. Lawrence and 
the Canadian lakes, and from northeast to southwest 
by the Allegheny Range, stretching from Alabama to 
N"ew England, where it trends towards the Canadian 
Hills in .the ridges known as the Green and White 
Mountains. This coast range has a short slope towards 
the Atlantic and a long one in the direction of the great 
Mississippi Valley. With the exception of some higher 
points of the Allegheny Range, the surface of this whole 
plain is glacier-worn from the Arctic regions to about 
the fortieth degree of northern latitude, the glacier 
marks trending from north to south, with occasional 
slight inclinations to the east or west, according to the 
minor inequalities of the surface. There is, however, 
no decided modification of their general trend in con¬ 
sequence of the range of hills intersecting them at right 
angles for nearly the whole width of the continent be¬ 
tween the latitudes forty-six and fifty; indeed, the 
Canadian, or, as they are sometimes called, the Lauren- 
tian Hills, did not form a more powerful barrier to the 
onward progress of the immense fields of ice covering 
the continent than did the small hummocks, or roches 
moutonnees 2 in the Swiss valleys to the advance of 
the Alpine glaciers. In fact, these low hills may be 
considered as a succession of roches moutonnees, trend- 

2 Roches moutonnees — (rosh moo-to-nay) roches, French for rock; 
moutonnees, French, meaning “rounded like the back of a sheep”; 
hence, scattered knobs of rock, resembling a flock of sheep lying down. 


310 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


ing in a continuous ridge from east to west, over which 
the masses of northern ice have moved unimpeded to 
the latitude of the Ohio. 

Owing to the absence of high mountain ranges over 
this vast expanse of land, glacial phenomena of Amer¬ 
ica are not grouped about special centers of dispersion, 
radiating from them as in Europe. During the great¬ 
est extension of the ice fields, there were hut few prom¬ 
inent peaks rising above them and dropping here and 
there huge bowlders on their surface, to be transported 
to great distances without losing their rough, angular 
character. When the temperature under which these 
vast frozen masses had been formed rose again, the 
wasting ice must have yielded first on its southern 
boundary, gradually and uniformly retreating to the 
Arctic regions, without breaking up into distinct glacial 
regions, separated from one another, each with its local 
distribution of erratic bowlders and glacier marks ra¬ 
diating from circumscribed areas on higher levels as 
they occur everywhere in Europe. It is true that there 
are a few localities in the Allegheny Range on the 
Green and White Mountains, and in parts of Maine, 
where it is evident that local glaciers have had a tem¬ 
porary existence; hut even throughout this eastern 
coast range the elevation of the mountains is so slight 
and their trend so uniform in a northeasterly and south¬ 
westerly direction through twenty degrees of latitude 
that the localization of the phenomena is less marked 
than in Norway, Great Britain, or Switzerland. In 
short, the ice of the great glacial period in America 
moved over the whole continent as one continuous sheet, 
overriding nearly all the inequalities of the surface. 
Thus the peculiar physical character of the country 
gives a new aspect to the study of glacial evidences here. 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


311 


The polished surfaces stretch continuously over hun¬ 
dreds and hundreds of miles; the rectilinear scratches, 
grooves, and furrows are unbroken for great distances; 
the drift spreads in one vast sheet over the whole land, 
consisting of an indiscriminate medley of clays, sands, 
gravels, pebbles, bowlders of all dimensions, so uni¬ 
formly mixed together that it presents hardly any dif¬ 
ference in its composition, whether we examine it in 
New England, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michi¬ 
gan, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, in Iowa beyond the 
Mississippi, in the more northern territories, or in 
Canada. 

In Europe, bowlders of large dimensions do not often 
occur within the drift, but are usually resting above it 
with their sharp angles and rough surfaces unchanged, 
having traveled evidently upon the glacier and not 
under it. Put such large bowlders, polished and 
scratched like the smaller pebbles, are to be found 
everywhere imbedded in American drift, while the an¬ 
gular fragments of rock resting above these triturated 3 
masses are comparatively rare. It is evident from this 
that the ice overtopped the rocky inequalities of the 
land and that the detached fragments remaining be¬ 
neath the icy covering underwent the same action from 
friction and pressure to which the whole mass of drift 
was subjected. The distribution of the few angular 
bowlders scattered over the country no doubt began 
when some of the higher portions of the land had 
emerged from the mass of snow and ice, and they are 
most frequent in New England, where the mountain 
elevation is greatest. 

The mineralogical character of the loose materials 
forming the American drift leaves no doubt that the 
3 Powdered. 


312 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


whole movement, with the exception of a few local 
modifications easily accounted for by the lay of the 
land, was from north to south, all the fragments not 
belonging to the localities where they occur being readily 
traced to rocks in situ 4 to the north of their present 
resting-places. The farther one journeys from their 
origin, the more extraordinary does the presence of these 
bowlders become. It strikes one strangely to find even 
in New England fragments of rock from the shores of 
Lake Superior; hut it is still more impressive to meet 
with masses of northern rock on the prairies of Illinois 
or Iowa. One may follow these bowlders to the fortieth 
degree of latitude, beyond which they become more and 
more rare, while the finer drift alone extends farther 
south. 

It is not only, however, by tracking the bowlders hack 
to their origin in the North that we ascertain the start¬ 
ing point of the whole mass; we have another kind of 
evidence to this effect, already alluded to in the descrip¬ 
tion of the roches moutonnees. Wherever the natural 
surface of any hill, having a steep southern slope, is 
exposed, the marks are always found to be very distinct 
on the northern side and entirely wanting on the south¬ 
ern one, showing that, as in the case of many of the 
roches moutonnees in Switzerland, the mass moved up 
the northern slope, forcing its way against it, grinding 
and furrowing the northern face of the hill as it moved 
over it, but bridging the opposite side in its descent 
without coming in contact with it. This is true not 
only of hills but of much slighter obstacles which pre¬ 
sented themselves in the path of the ice. Even pebbles 
imbedded in masses of pudding stone, 5 but arising some- 

4 In its original or proper location. 

5 Composite rock of rounded pebbles in masses of bard, white, 
colorless mineral called “silica.” 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


313 


times above tbe level of tbe general surface, often have 
their northern side polished and scratched, while the 
southern one remains untouched. 

Moraines are not wanting to complete the chain of 
evidence respecting the ancient existence of glaciers in 
this country, although we cannot expect to find them 
here so frequently as in Europe, where the many local 
glaciers in circumscribed valleys afforded special facili¬ 
ties for the building up of these lateral and transverse 
walls. Over the broad expanse of the United States, on 
the contrary, with such slight variations of level, the 
disappearance of the ice at its breaking-up would natu¬ 
rally be more complete and continuous than in a coun¬ 
try intersected by frequent mountain chains, where 
the ice would linger in the higher valleys long after it 
had disappeared from the plains below. Yet it is 
evident that here also in certain localities the boundary 
line of the ice underwent oscillations, pausing here and 
there long enough to collect mounds of the same charac¬ 
ter as those spanning the valleys of Switzerland and 
Great Britain. We have several of these mounds in our 
immediate vicinity. The Waverly Oaks, so well known 
to all lovers of fine trees in our community, 6 stand on 
an ancient moraine, and there are others in the neigh¬ 
borhood of the Blue Hills. In the southeastern parts of 
Maine, also, I have observed very well defined moraines. 
In Vermont, the valley of the Winooski River retains 
ample traces of the local glacier by which it was for¬ 
merly filled; and, indeed, throughout the Allegheny 
Range, in its northeastern as well as its southern ex¬ 
tension, we have various evidences of localized glaciers, 
which must have outlived the general ice period for a 
longer or a shorter time. 

6 The vicinity of Boston. 


314 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


I am unwilling to weary my readers by dwelling upon 
appearances identical with those already described *, but 
I may state, for the guidance of those who wish to in¬ 
vestigate these traces for themselves, that any recently 
uncovered ledge of rock in our neighborhood, the sur¬ 
face of which has not been altered by atmospheric agen¬ 
cies, presents the glacier-worn surfaces with the charac¬ 
teristic striae 7 and furrows. These marks may be 
traced everywhere, even to the sea shore, not only down 
to the water’s edge but beneath it, wherever the harder 
rocks have resisted the action of the tides and retain 
their original character. In our granitic regions inter¬ 
sected by innumerable trap dikes, 8 as for instance, at 
Nahant, the smooth surface of many of the rocks, where 
sienite 9 and trap have been evenly leveled, shows that 
the same inexorable saw, cutting alike through hard 
and soft materials, has passed over them. In the hills 
of pudding stone in the neighborhood of Roxbury we 
have quartz pebbles cut down to the same level with the 
softer paste in which they lie imbedded with pebbles of 
sandstone, clay slate, gneiss, 10 and limestone. In the 
limestone regions of western New York and northern 
Ohio, about the neighborhood of Buffalo and Cleve¬ 
land, the flat surfaces of the limestone are most uni¬ 
formly polished, furrowed, and scratched, the furrows 
often exhibiting that staccato 11 grating action described 
in a former chapter. I have observed the same traces 
in the vicinity of Milwaukee and Iowa City, and we 
know, from the accounts given by Arctic travelers of 
their overland expeditions, that these peculiar appear- 

7 Slight ridges or furrows. 

8 Dark-colored eruptive rock of column structure. 

9 A rock allied to granite. 

10 A rock in thin layers, composed of quartz, feldspar and mica. 

II In an abrupt, sharply detached manner. 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


315 


ances of the surface are characteristic of the rocks 
in those regions, wherever they are not disintegrate 
ing under the influence of the present atmospheric 
agents. 

Upon these surfaces, through the whole expanse of 
the country, rests the drift, having everywhere the 
characteristic composition of glacier drift, and no¬ 
where that of an aqueous stratified deposit, except when 
afterwards remodeled by the action of water. But of 
this stratified drift I shall have occasion to speak more 
in detail hereafter. There is, however, one circum¬ 
stance, of frequent occurrence along our New England 
shores, requiring special explanation because it is gen¬ 
erally misunderstood. Along our sea shore and even 
within the harbor of Boston, at the base of the harbor 
islands, as well as the outlet of our larger Atlantic 
streams, numbers of bowlders are found of considerable 
size; and this fact is often adduced as showing the power 
of water to transport massive fragments of rock great 
distances, the mineralogical character of these bowlders 
being frequently such as to show that they cannot have 
originated in the neighborhood of their present resting 
places. But a careful examination of the surrounding 
country and a comparison of the nature and level of the 
drift on the mainland with those of the same deposits 
on the harbor islands suggest a different explanation of 
these phenomena. The sheet of drift was once more 
continuous and extensive than it is now, and the locali¬ 
ties in which we find these crops of bowlders are spots 
where the tide has eaten into the drift, wearing away 
the finer materials, or the paste in which the larger 
fragments were imbedded, and allowing them to fall to 
the bottom, or where the same result has been produced 
by the action of rivers cutting their way through the 


316 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


drift 12 and thus finding an outlet to the sea. In short, 
instead of showing the power of currents to carry along 
heavy fragments, these stranded bowlders prove, on 
the contrary, the inability of water to produce any such 
effect, since it is evident that the tides washing against 
the shore, or the rivers rushing down to the sea, were 
equally incapable of hearing off the weightier mate¬ 
rials, and allowed them to drop to the bottom, while 
they readily swept away the lighter ones. Such locali¬ 
ties compare with the surrounding drift much as the 
bottom of a gravel pit which has ‘been partially worked 
compares with its banks. Look into any gravel pit, a 
portion of which has already been carted away. At its 
bottom a number of larger stones and bowlders are 
usually lying, too heavy for the cart, and therefore left 
on the spot. Fragments of the same size and character 
and equally numerous will be seen protruding at vari¬ 
ous heights from the sides, where they are imbedded in 
the general mass of the drift. As soon as the work 
progresses a little further and the finer materials are re¬ 
moved, these bowlders will also drop out and lie as 
thickly scattered over the surface of the ground as they 
now do in that portion of the bottom where the pit 
has been completely opened and the gravel removed. 
We shall see hereafter how these bowlders, derived from 
the land drift and scattered along the coast, may be dis¬ 
tinguished from those cast ashore by icebergs. 

Notwithstanding the number of facts thus far col¬ 
lected respecting glacial phenomena in America, cer¬ 
tainly forming in their combination a very strong 
chain of evidence, the scientific world has, nevertheless, 
been slow to admit the possibility of the former existence 
of glaciers over such a wide, unbroken expanse of level 
12 Deposit accumulated by wind or water. 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


317 


land. This backwardness is, no doubt, partly due to 
the fact, that, as glaciers have hitherto been studied in 
mountainous countries, their presence has been sup¬ 
posed to imply the presence of mountains, this impres¬ 
sion being strengthened by the downward and onward 
movement of existing glaciers, so long supposed to be 
exclusively due to the slopes along which all modern 
glaciers advance. Were it true that glaciers move solely 
or mainly on account of the sloping bottom on which 
they rest and that they can advance only on an in¬ 
clined plane, all the phenomena concerning drift, pol¬ 
ished and furrowed surfaces, bowlders, etc., in Amer¬ 
ica, would hardly justify us in assuming a moving 
sheet of ice as their cause. But we have seen that the 
phenomena of glaciers, like those of currents, are in 
great part meteorological. The Gulf Stream does not 
flow toward the English shore because the ocean bottom 
slopes eastward; nor does the cold current of Baffin's 
Bay run down hill when it pours its icy waters south¬ 
ward upon our northeast coast. Their course is de¬ 
termined by laws of temperature, and so have we also 
seen that the motion of glaciers is mainly determined 
by conditions of temperature, although, in this case, an 
internal mechanical action is combined with external 
influences; and while it is true that glaciers as they 
now exist are dependent upon the shape of the valleys 
in lofty mountain chains, yet under different geograph¬ 
ical conditions the same phenomena may he produced 
over level, open countries. 

I believe that circumstances similar to those deter¬ 
mining the more rapid advance of the glaciers from 
higher to lower levels at that point where the alternate 
thawing and freezing, the infiltration of water, and con¬ 
sequent expansion of the ice under frost are greatest, 


318 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


would also determine tlie motion of a large body of ice 
from north to south, since it would he along its south¬ 
ern limits that these conditions would prevail, while 
the great reservoir of snow at the north would corre¬ 
spond to thh upper troughs of the present glaciers, from 
which their lower ranges are constantly fed. The 
change of snow into ice is owing to alternations of tem¬ 
perature, to partial melting and subsequent freezing, 
constantly renewed, also to the sinking of the mass 
upon itself in consequence of its own weight, the lower 
portions being thus forced out by the pressure of the 
superincumbent ice. Upon an inclined plane the move¬ 
ment consequent upon these changes will of course be 
downward; but what would be the result, if a field of 
snow many thousand feet thick, corresponding, except 
in its greater bulk, to the accumulations by which the 
present glaciers are caused, were stretched over an ex¬ 
tensive level surface? The moisture from the upper 
superficial layers would permeate the larger mass as it 
now does the smaller one, trickling down into its lower 
portions, while the pressure from above would render 
the bottom hard and compact, changing it gradually to 
ice. If this should take place under climatic conditions 
which would keep the whole as a mass in a frozen state, 
the pressure from above-would force out the lower ice 
in every direction beyond its original circumscription, 
thus enlarging the area covered by it, while the whole 
would subside in its bulk. Let us for a moment assume 
that such an accumulation of snow takes place around 
the northern and southern poles, stretching thence over 
the northern and southern hemispheres to latitude 40, 
and that this field of snow acquires a thickness of from 
twelve to fifteen thousand feet. Such a mass would sub¬ 
side upon itself in consequence of its own weight; it 



ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


319 


would be transformed into ice with a greater or less 
rapidity and completeness, according to the latitude of 
determining the surrounding climatic influences and the 
amount of moisture falling upon it as rain or dew, the 
alternations of temperature being of course more fre¬ 
quent and greater along its outer limit. In proportion 
as, with the rising of the temperature, these alterna¬ 
tions became more general, a packing of the mass would 
begin, corresponding to that observed in the glacial 
valleys of Switzerland, though here the action would 
not be intensified by lateral pressure; an internal move¬ 
ment of the whole mass would be initiated, and the 
result could be no other than a uniform advance in a 
southerly direction from the Arctic toward the more 
temperate latitudes in Europe, Asia, and North Amer¬ 
ica, and from the Antarctic toward South America, the 
Cape of Good Hope and Yan Dieman’s Land. But we 
need not build up a theoretical case in order to form an 
approximate idea of the great ice sheet stretching over 
the northern part of this continent during the glacial 
period. 

It would seem that man was intended to decipher the 
past history of his home, for some remnants or traces 
of all its great events are left as a key to the whole. 
Greenland and the Arctic regions hold all that remains 
of the glacial period in North America. Their shrunken 
ice fields, formidable as they seem to us, are to the frozen 
masses of that secular winter but as the patches of snow 
and ice lingering on the north side of our hills after the 
spring has opened; let us expand them in imagination 
till they extend over half the continent, and we shall 
have a sufficiently vivid picture of this frozen world. 
And a temperature which would bring the climate of 
Greenland down to the fortieth degree of latitude would 


320 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


not only render the field of ice far more extensive, but 
thousands of feet thicker than it is at present. The 
physical configuration of Greenland also confirms the 
possibility of a glacial period in America; for there 
we have at this moment a wide expanse of land un¬ 
broken by mountains, over which a uniform sheet of ice 
moves southward, with occasional variations of its 
trend, according to the undulations of the surface. 
The interesting accounts of Dr. Kink show that in real¬ 
ity Greenland is a miniature picture of the ice period. 
The immense number of icebergs breaking off and float¬ 
ing southward every summer gives us some idea of the 
annual waste and renewal of the ice. How can we doubt 
that, when under the same latitude, Norway, Sweden, 
Scotland, England, and Ireland were covered by sheets 
of ice many thousand feet in height, the ice fields of 
Greenland must have shared in the same climatic in¬ 
fluences and have been much thicker and far more ex¬ 
tensive than they are at present ? 

Notwithstanding the absence of lofty mountain chains 
in America, we are not wholly without the means of 
measuring the thickness of the ice sheet, by comparing 
it, as in Europe, with some of our higest elevations. 
The slopes of the Allegheny Kange, wherever they have 
been examined, are glacier-worn to the very top, with 
the exception of a few points; hut these points are suf¬ 
ficient to give us data for the comparison. Mount 
Washington, for instance, is over six thousand feet high, 
and the rough, unpolished surface of its summit, covered 
with loose fragments, just below the level of which 
glacier marks come to an end, tells us that it lifted its 
head alone above the desolate waste of ice and snow. In 
this region, then, the thickness of the sheet cannot have 
been much less than six thousand feet, and this is in 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 


321 


keeping with the same kind of evidence in other parts 
of the country; for wherever the mountains are much 
below six thousand feet, the ice seems to have passed 
directly over them, while the few peaks rising to that 
height are left untouched. And while we thus sink our 
plummet from the summit to the base of Mount Wash¬ 
ington and measure the thickness of the mass of ice, 
we have a no less accurate indication of its extension 
in the undulating line marking the southern termina¬ 
tion of the drift. I have shown that the moraines mark 
the oscillations of the glaciers in Europe. Where such 
accumulations of loose materials took place at its 
terminus, there we know the glacier must have held its 
ground long enough to allow time for the collection of 
these debris. In the same way we may trace the south¬ 
ern border of our ancient ice sheet on this continent by 
the limit of the bowlders; beyond that line it evidently 
did not advance as a solid mass, since it ceased to trans¬ 
port the heavier materials. But as soon as the out¬ 
skirts of the ice began to yield and to flow off as water, 
the lighter portions of the drift were swept onward; 
and hence we find a sheet of finer drift deposits, sand, 
and gravel more or less distinctly stratified, carried to 
greater or less distances, and fading into the Southern 
States, where it mingles with the most recent river 
deposits. 

One naturally asks: What was the use of this great 
engine set at work ages ago to grind, furrow, and knead 
over, as it were, the surface of the earth? We have 
our answer in the fertile soil which spreads over the 
temperate regions of the globe. The glacier was God’s 
great plough; and when the ice vanished from the face 
of the land, it left it prepared for the hand of the 
husbandman. The hard surface of the rocks was ground 


322 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

to powder, the elements of the soil were mingled in fair 
proportions, granite was carried into the lime regions, 
lime was mingled with the more arid and unproductive 
granite districts, and a soil was prepared fit for the 
agricultural uses of man. I have been asked whether 
this inference was not inconsistent with the fact that 
a rich vegetation preceded the ice period — a vegeta¬ 
tion sufficiently abundant to sustain the tropical ani¬ 
mals then living throughout the temperate regions. 
But the vegetation which has succeeded the ice period 
is of a different character and one that could not have 
flourished on a soil that would nourish a more tropical 
growth. The soil we have now over the temperate zone 
is a grain-growing soil — one especially adapted to those 
plants most necessary to the higher domestic and social 
organizations of the human race. Therefore I think 
we may believe that God did not shroud the world He 
had made in snow and ice without a purpose and that 
this, like many other operations of His providence, 
seemingly destructive and chaotic in its first effects, is 
nevertheless a work of beneficence and order. 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 

GALILEO, FOUNDER OF MODERN SCIENCE 

(1) What was Galileo’s first experiment? (2) What did he 
use as his time index? (3) What is the principle of isochro- 
nism? (4) Who was Euclid? Archimedes? (5) What was 
Galileo’s first professional appointment? (6) What was the 
Copernican theory? (7) Describe Galileo’s experiment from 
the leaning tower of Pisa. (8) Why was this “ truly a great 
moment in the history of the world ” ? (9) Why was Bruno 

put to death? (10) Describe the first thermometer. (11) 
What was Aristotle’s philosophy concerning the heavens? 
(12) What obvious evidence did Galileo have to refute this 
theory? (13) Who invented the telescope? (14) How did 
this invention help to refute the Aristotelian theory? (15) 
Why was Galileo ordered to abandon his opinions? (16) Could 
this happen in America today? (17) Did Galileo keep his 
promise not to teach the Copernican theory? (18) Analyze 
Galileo’s character. (19) Do you think he is more to be 
condemned or pitied for his recantation? 

(1) Find out where famous universities were located in 
Galileo’s day, and something of the subjects taught in them. 

(2) How did teachers of one university communicate with 
those of others? Consult histories and gather what you can 
of the general attitude of the time toward university trained 
men. 

(3) Write a paper comparing Galileo’s home with a modern 
house of today, bringing out the differences made by scien¬ 
tific inventions. 

(4) Write a life of Bruno. 

(5) Trace the effect of the Copernican theory upon ex¬ 
ploration in general, and connect it with the discovery of 
America. 

(6) Look up Aristotle and his time, and explain his in¬ 
fluence upon the thought of Galileo’s day. 


324 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

(7) Make an analogy between the difficulty Galileo had in 
getting his theory accepted and the present day controversy, 
showing how human nature remains the same with, regard 
to accepting something new. 

THE CHEMICAL FACTORY IN THE GREEN LEAF 

(1) Is it possible that there is life on other heavenly bodies 
besides the earth? (2) Name and describe one of the simplest 
forms of life. (3) In what ways do living things differ from 
stone and wood? (4) How does an amoeba increase its kind? 
(5) What is protoplasm? (6) What is the greatest difference 
between plants and animals? (7) Of what use is a green leaf 
to a plant? (8) Trace the source of energy one obtains from 
eating a piece of bread. (9) What is chlorophyll and what 
does it do? (10) Why are trees and parks desirable in a 
crowded city? 

(1) If possible, visit a factory. Describe what you see and 
make a comparison with what goes on in a plant. 

(2) Imagine and describe what the world would be like if all 
plants were suddenly to vanish. 

(3) Begin with a molecule of sugar in a clover head. Make 
a logical, connected story concerning it, introducing the follow¬ 
ing: an ant, a chicken, a fox, a bear, and a hunter. 

(4) Discover for yourself the differences in structure be¬ 
tween plants and animals which have come about because of 
the difference in method of obtaining food. 

(5) Write a fanciful story about a blade of grass which 
wanted to drive an automobile, telling how its ambition was 
fulfilled. 


THE PLANETS AND THE MOON 

(1) Who was Schiaparelli? (2) What is meant by centrifu¬ 
gal force? (3) How many planets are there in our solar 
system? (4) Which planet is nearest the earth? (5) Have 
all the planets in the solar system moons? (6) How many 
moons has Jupiter? (7) Why does Mars appear red? (8) 
Describe Saturn. (9) What is meant by the “ nebular hypoth¬ 
esis ” ? (10) If we were on the moon, what could we observe 

on our earth with a powerful telescope? (11) Upon what two 
factors does the temperature of our earth depend? 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 


325 


(1) Find out how the planets got their names, and tell 
some of the legends connected with those names. 

(2) Stars have always inspired poets. Find a poem that 
you like about stars; then write one of your own. 

(3) Think of yourself projected from the earth out into 
space, and landing on the moon or on Mars. Describe your 
journey. Read H. G. Wells’ First Men in the Moon. 

(4) Make a map of the sky as you see it some rather dim 
night. Make a map of the moon. 

(5) Demonstrate to the class by means of cardboard disks 
and a flash light how an eclipse of the sun occurs. An eclipse 
of the moon. 

(6) Have you ever seen an eclipse? Describe your sensa¬ 
tions and what you saw. Read Mark Twain’s description of an 
eclipse of the sun in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s 
Court. 


THE ORGANIZED CORPUSCLES IN THE 
ATMOSPHERE 

(1) What was the doctrine of spontaneous generation? (2) 
What did Pasteur believe ferments to be? (3) Why did 
Pasteur make researches with regard to spontaneous genera¬ 
tion? (4) What did Pasteur find present in the air? (5) 
Describe one of his experiments. (6) Tell something of 
Pasteur’s life. (7) For what are we indebted to Pasteur? 
(8) Why is he considered the greatest benefactor to humanity 
since the time of Jesus Christ? 

(1) Reconstruct the scene of' the great experiment here de¬ 
scribed, which was performed in the Sorbonne in 1864, giving 
the setting, the people present, the effect, etc. 

(2) Make a chart showing events of importance taking place 
in other countries about the time of Pasteur’s experiments. 

(3) Experiment with yeast. Put some sugar, flour, water, 
and yeast together, and keep in a warm place for a few days. 
Observe and describe the changes taking place. 

(4) Before Pasteur’s day it was common for localities to 
suffer severe epidemics of contagious diseases. Some of these 
are famous in history, because they took such tremendous toll 
of human life. Find out about one, and report to the class 
concerning it. 


326 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


(5) Man has been able to fight disease more successfully, 
since it has been found that germs are often carried by animals 
which in turn infect man. In building the Panama Canal, 
what disease formed the biggest obstacle to the project? How 
did Colonel Goethals combat this? Write the history of the 
Panama Canal, showing how Pasteur’s discovery of germ 
diseases aided in its success. 

(6) What diseases are children inoculated against today? 
Write to the Children’s Bureau of the Labor Department of 
the United States for information concerning the number of 
children’s lives saved through inoculation. Report to class. 

(7) What animals are known to carry disease germs to man? 
Find out what the government is doing about such animals. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF DUST 

(1) Why is the sky blue? (2) Why are Italian skies deeper 
blue than those elsewhere? (3) Why can we look directly 
at the sun when it is near the horizon? (4) What causes sun¬ 
set colors? (5) What causes the color of the ocean? (6) Why 
are some oceans green and others blue? (7) What causes 
water vapor to condense in air? (8) Why do we find dew 
upon grass? (9) What is meant by “ point of saturation ” ? 
(10) Suppose there were no dust in the upper atmosphere, 
what would happen? (11) Give a summary of what we owe 
to the presence of dust. 

(1) Write a detailed description of a sunset that impressed 
you as particularly beautiful. What emotions did it rouse 
in you? 

(2) Write a poem on the beauty hidden in common things, 
using dust as an example. 

(3) In The Lay of the Last Minstrel Scott speaks of “ the 
vile dust from which he sprung”; Wordsworth speaks of 
“ hearts dry as summer dust ”; Pope says, “ The day shall 
come, that great avenging day, Which Troy’s proud glories in 
the dust shall lay.” Find other references to dust in poetical 
literature, observing whether the writers have an inkling of 
the beauty made possible by dust. Which seems more beauti¬ 
ful to you, the scientists’ or the poets’ conception of dust? 

(4) Oral lesson. Prepare a dialogue between a girl who has 
been dusting a room and who is annoyed by the dust, and an 
atom of dust, letting the dust defend itself against her 
accusations. 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 


327 


THE ENERGIES OF MEN 

(1) What happens if we continue with a piece of work after 
feeling fatigue? (2) Have you ever experienced second wind? 
Describe your experience. (3) What is “ nutritive equilib¬ 
rium ” ? (4) What is “ efficiency equilibrium ” ? (5) What is 

a foot-pound? (6) Explain “ a higher qualitative level of life.” 
(7) Do most people fail habitually to use their powers to the 
utmost? Do you? (8) What stimuli incite men to fuller 
use of their power? (9) Give examples of muscular dyna- 
mogenic appeal. (10) What was the Siege of Delhi? (11) 
In which one of Dickens’s novels does the character Mark 
Tapley occur? (12) Describe the experience of Colonel Baird 
Smith. (13) Why did he not feel his physical infirmities during 
the siege? (14) What is the normal opener of the deeper levels 
of energy? (15) Look up Ignatius Loyola. (16) Can all men 
be influenced by the same ideas? Why? (17) Give some ex¬ 
amples of energy-releasing ideas. 

(1) Write a story in which the hero or heroine is carried 
over a crisis, because his unusual idea of necessity induces him 
to make an extraordinary call upon his resources. 

' (2) Find instances in history of unusual ability to endure, 

or of the unlocking of unusual powers in an individual, through 
stimulation by an idea. 

(3) Examine the history of the United States for examples 
of energy-releasing ideas, and show what effect each has had 
upon the country. 

(4) In the light of this essay, explain how the simple, ig¬ 
norant shepherdess, Joan of Arc, was able to lead armies to 
victory. 

PRIMEVAL MAN 

(1) Why did early men keep to the margins of rivers? (2) 
What animals shared the soil with primitive man? (3) De¬ 
scribe the appearance of primeval man. (4) Have we any 
survival in our life today of the savagery of primeval times? 

(5) Discuss the importance of fire today as compared with 
life in paleolithic times. (6) What were man’s first tools? 
How were they made? (7) What foods did the early savages 
eat? 

(1) To your mind what are the greatest differences between 
primeval man and civilized man — differences in morals, man¬ 
ners, habits, or externals? 


328 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


(2) Find out where remains of primitive man have been 
found in the world and anything you think interesting con¬ 
nected with these finds. 

(3) Look up the book from which this article is taken, and 
write an essay on Worthington Smith’s work — how he carried 
it on and what his objective was. 

(4) If you found yourself alone in a forest, cut off from 
civilization, what knowledge that you have gained in school 
or out of it would be of most worth to you? Explain what 
you would do to preserve life, what tools you would devise and 
use, etc. 


THE SENSE OF SMELL 

(1) Why is smell “ the Cinderella of our senses ” ? (2) How 
did the Arabs cultivate their sense of smell? (3) What is 
meant by dogs “ cleaning their scent ” ? (4) Give an example 

of the sense of smell being an aid to memory, from your 
own experience if possible. (5) Describe the odors in a bee¬ 
hive. (6) What does the author mean by his last sentence? 

(1) Gather together several substances with definite and 
characteristic odors, such as oil of lavender, oil of cloves, am¬ 
monia, perfume, coffee, onion, etc. Let the class have a whiff 
of each, writing immediately what comes to mind after re¬ 
ceiving the scent. Examine these papers, and determine, if 
you can, whether the odors have a tendency to recall people 
to mind, or events, or scenes. 

(2) Without letting the class see what you are doing, bum 
a bit of fat, bread, or cigar, and have each one record what 
he thinks is burning and what associations the odor brings 
to mind. 

(3) Some one once said that “ the essence of all grandmothers 
is a smell of spices.” Write a description of a person, using 
some odor to assist in portraying the personality. 

(4) Make a list of all nouns which express odor and all ad¬ 
jectives which describe odors. Why is it difficult to find words 
to fit different odors? 

(5) Read the article on ants in this book with a view to 
finding out how great a part smell plays in their lives. Why 
must they rely on this sense to such a great degree? 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 


329 


GREENNESS AND VITAMIN “ A ” 

(1) How far back in history has lettuce been used as a food? 

(2) Give an instance showing the value of fresh vegetables 
in the diet. (3) What is the use of vitamin A in the diet? 

(4) Where do we find the greatest quantities of vitamin A? 

(5) Describe an experiment showing the superiority of green 
over bleached vegetables. (6) Why is this so? (7) Tell what 
you know of chlorophyll. (8) Should vegetables of other 
colors than green be used plentifully in the diet? Why? 
(9) Is our knowledge of vitamins complete? 

(1) Most universities are carrying on work in the investiga¬ 
tion of vitamins. Write to your state university or, if near 
enough to a university, go, and find out something of the 
nature of the experimental work. Report to the class. 

(2) Take up each known vitamin separately. Find out 
where and by whom investigation is being carried on con¬ 
cerning it, and what results have so far been obtained. The 
United States Department of Agriculture has many investi¬ 
gators in this field. Write to Washington for any bulletins 
on vitamins. Make report. 

(3) Keep a list of the foods that you eat for several days. 
Make a chart of those which contain vitamins, showing which 
vitamins are in each. 

(4) Find out all that you can about the green substance 
chlorophyll, explaining what happens in winter when green 
leaves turn red, yellow, or brown. 


HONEY, NATURE’S SWEET 

(1) Name some of the problems of scientists in connection 
with the study of honey. (2) Of what use to plants are the 
sugars they manufacture? (3) How is cross-pollination of 
plants brought about? (4) Name some of the plants from 
which honey is obtained. (5) Why do bees gather nectar? 

(6) How do bees know where to find a supply of nectar? (7) 
What do the bees do to nectar to transform it into honey? 
(8) Of what is honey composed? (9) What gives the flavor 
to honey? (10) What is the principal use of honey as a food? 
(11) Why does honey remain liquid for a long time? (12) 
Why is honey always free of bacteria? (13) Tell something 
of a beekeeper’s work. 


330 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


(1) Make a chart showing the constituents of honey, draw¬ 
ing a cylinder, or cup, or pitcher of appropriate size for each 
substance contained in it. 

(2) Imagine yourself a worker bee. Write your experiences 
of a day, using the first person. To do this you will need to 
learn more of bee life. Ways of the Six-footed, by Comstock; 
The Honey-Makers, by Morley; and The Bee-People, by 
Morley will help you, as well as books on the keeping of bees, 
such as Forty Years among the Bees, by Miller, and Beekeep¬ 
ing, by Phillips. 

(3) Write eight reasons why it would be interesting to 
keep bees. 

(4) If it is spring or summer, examine flowers to see where 
the pollen is and, if possible, how it reaches other flowers. 
Watch an insect on a flower. Does the flower have nectar to 
attract the insect; does it have other attractions? Describe 
what you see. 

(5) Huber, who was blind, was a famous Swiss student of 
bees. How did he overcome this handicap in his studies? 
Write a life of Huber. 

ANTS 

(1) Who was Stanley? (2) Describe the meeting between 
carpenter ants and mound-building ants. (3) What is “ me¬ 
langering ” ? (4) Give an example of the pugnacity and 

courage of ants. (5) What weapons have ants for waging 
warfare? (6) Describe the stinging organ of agricultural ants. 
(7) What are the causes of war among ants? (8) How do ants 
recognize friend from foe? (9) Can you think of any other 
way in which the sense of smell might be tested in ants? (10) 
Give an account of the habits of the honey ants of the Garden 
of the Gods. (11) What is your opinion of the intelligence 
of ants? Illustrate your answer. (12) Read Ellwood Hen¬ 
drick’s article on u The Sense of Smell ” in this book, and then 
compare this sense in human beings and in ants. 

(1) Make an ants’ nest for your classmates. In an agate 
wash basin containing water, place an agate pudding pan up¬ 
side down, thus making an island from which your ant colony 
cannot escape. Take two pieces of glass about 4 inches square, 
and place them one on top of the other on the island, held 
apart by match sticks placed lengthwise on each of the four 
sides. Cut a heavy piece of cardboard or cigar box the same 
size as the glass to use as a cover when you are not observing 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 


331 


the ants, which will make the space between the two pieces of 
glass their home. A screw-eye in the middle of such a lid 
is an aid in removing it. Scoop up part of an ant hill and 
place on the island. The inmates will seek the narrow dark 
space you have provided and will carry their young there. 
Keep a piece of moist sponge on the island. Now you are 
ready to observe. 

(2) Let the members of the class take turns making daily 
observations of the ant nest and recording the activities of 
the ants. Make these reports just as vivid and interesting 
as possible. Mark Twain once wrote an amusing account of 
an ant at work. See if you can find it and if it agrees with 
your observations. 

(3) In watching the ants, look specially for instances of 
their cleverness, energy, courage, or intelligence. Write an 
account of such instance. 

(4) With a hand lens examine an ant carefully, noting as 
many differences as possible between its structure and that 
of a man. Make a list of these differences, and point out how 
the ant’s structure is adapted to its mode of life. 


BIRDS 

(1) In what ways do birds resemble reptiles? (2) What did 
the ancestral forms of bird life look like? (3) How did flight 
in birds develop? (4) Give examples of flightless birds of 
today. (5) Describe an extinct flightless bird. (6) Tell any¬ 
thing you think unusual in the life of the penguin. (7) What 
is meant by “ Scott’s tragic fate ” in the section on the Em¬ 
peror Penguin? (8) How many species of birds are known? 
(9) What have all birds in common? (10) Compare the flight 
of a bird with that of an airplane. (11) Look up W. H. 
Hudson, and, if possible, read some of his books. 

(1) Find out in what parts of the world fossil remains of 
birds have been found. From museum specimens or pictures 
tell how they differ from birds of today. Read H. G. Wells’ 
story “ iEpyomis Island ” from Thirty Strange Stories. 

(2) Think of all the birds you know, and make a list of 
those whose young are able to run about and get food as soon 
as they are hatched. Have the habits of these birds anything 
to do with this ability? Describe any differences you have 
observed between the habits of a robin and those of a chicken. 


332 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


(3) Make a study of some common bird that you see fre¬ 
quently— the crow, sparrow, chickadee, woodpecker, chicken. 
Send to the United States Department of Agriculture for a 
bulletin about the bird you have chosen, and then see if you 
can observe the things told in the bulletin. When you feel ac¬ 
quainted with this bird, write an account of its habits, or ap¬ 
pearance, or its character in general. 

(4) Are birds more harmful than beneficial to man? Ar¬ 
range a debate on this question. 

(5) Sketch two birds which differ greatly in appearance, 
either from life or from stuffed specimens. Account for the 
differences in bill, wing, shape of body, tail, feet, etc. 


BIRD MIGRATION 

(1) What theories have been advanced to account for bird 
migration? (2) What advantages are there in night migra¬ 
tion? What disadvantages? (3) Describe the way in which 
the migration flight goes on. (4) Give varied examples of 
distances covered in migration. (5) What is the “ world’s 
migration champion ” ? Describe the peculiarities of its life. 

(6) What determines the routes of migration? (7) Describe 
one migration route in detail. (8) How do migratory birds 
find their way? (9) Is a bird’s sense of direction infallible? 
(10) Do birds follow the natural physical highways in mi¬ 
gration? (11) What is the relation between migration and 
molting? (12) What casualties occur during migration? 

(1) Choose a bird which you see only at certain seasons 
of the year in your vicinity. Find out where it migrates and 
the route it takes. Make a map marking this route upon it. 

(2) Find out more about the work of the Biological Survey 
of the United States Department of Agriculture, and write 
an essay about any phase of the work which you think 
interesting. 

(3) Suppose a letter had been written and attached to the 
leg of a bird migrating from this country. Suppose that it ar¬ 
rived safely in some foreign country many miles away and 
was picked up and read. Imagine yourself to be the person 
finding such a letter. Write your reply in such terms that one 
could recognize the bird and the country to which it flew. 

(4) Airplanes, like birds, have definite routes of travel. 
Find out why this is necessary, and how the government helps 
an aviator in charting his path. 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 


333 


(5) Wind plays an important part in the flight of birds and 
airplanes. Find out what causes wind and how the United 
States Weather Bureau studies it. 

(6) In your neighborhood, which direction of the wind gen¬ 
erally brings storm? Observe for a week where the wind is 
coming from on your way to school, and what sort of weather 
accompanies it. Report to the class. 

(7) Read Shelley’s “ Ode to the West Wind.” What sort of 
weather did the west wind bring in his part of the country? 
Compare it with the west wind where you live. 


THE BLOODTHIRSTY PIRANHA 

(1) Name some of the birds found along the Paraguay 
River. (2) How do the caymans of the Paraguay differ from 
the crocodiles of Africa? (3) What animals in the tropics are 
most dangerous to man? (4) If insects are so deadly, how does 
it happen that man can live in the tropics? (5) Describe the 
appearance and habits of the piranha. (6) Read any para¬ 
graph which presents a picture, and then write it in your own 
words. Compare with the original and discover, if you can, 
how Roosevelt makes you see so vividly what he has seen. 
(7) Look at a map of South America, and follow Roosevelt’s 
course up the Paraguay. (8) Look up the history of the names 
“ muscovy duck,” “ turkey,” and “ guinea pig ” (9) What 

can you tell concerning Roosevelt’s character from reading 
this selection? 

(1) Make a map of the world showing by shading the parts 
as yet unexplored. 

(2) Choose some recent trip of exploration and find out all 
that you can about it. 

(3) Keep a report for the remainder of the year concerning 
some trip of exploration, watching for news of it in newspapers 
and magazines. 

(4) Arrange a debate on one of the following questions: 

(a) Is tropical exploration more dangerous than polar? 

( b ) Is tropical exploration more Valuable to man than 
polar? 

(5) What naturally follows after exploration of a coun¬ 
try? Use the exploration of the Mississippi as an example. 


334 


THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 


NOTES FROM CORRESPONDENCE 

(1) Describe Franklin’s electrical kite. (2) What reasons 
had Franklin for believing lightning to be identical with 
electricity? (3) Describe Franklin’s experiment for deter¬ 
mining how clouds become charged with electricity. (4) Was 
this experiment a success? (5) Franklin says that death by 
electricity would be the easiest of all deaths. Is any use 
made of this fact? (6) Was Franklin conceited? Give 
evidence for your answer. (7) Was Franklin glad that he had 
an inventive mind? (8) Name some useful everyday in¬ 
ventions, the origin of which we do not know. (9) Name some 
American inventors who are honored for their inventions. 
(10) Name several ways of kindling fire. (11) What corona¬ 
tion does Franklin refer to in his letter written August 10, 
1761? (12) Is Franklin right about the imbibing properties 

of pores of the skin? (13) What is your opinion of Frank¬ 
lin’s theory of rivers running into the sea? (14) Do you know 
of any use which is made of the fact that black colored sub¬ 
stances absorb more heat than white? (15) Is the study of 
insects despised today? Give evidence for your answer. (16) 
What use is made of our present knowledge of insect life? 
(17) Was there a federal Bureau of Entomology in Franklin’s 
time? (18) Quote three proverbs from Poor Richard. 

(1) Find out all that you can about the “ Junto Club.” 
Describe a characteristic meeting with its setting. 

(2) The public library system is an outgrowth of the “ Junto 
Club.” Write an essay on the development of public libraries 
and the extent of the system today. Your own public library 
will help you. 

(3) Which of the Franklin letters here given do you like 
best? Why? Write a letter to a friend explaining anything 
of a scientific nature that you are interested in. 

(4) Why was it that America looked to France for help in 
her struggle for independence? 


LETTERS FROM A RADIO ENGINEER TO HIS SON 

(1) How do protons differ from electrons? (2) Of what is 
all matter made? (3) What is an atom? (4) How many 
different kinds of atoms are there? (5) What is a molecule? 
(6) What does the kind of atom depend on? (7) What is 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 


335 


the simplest atom? Of what is it composed? (8) What hap¬ 
pens when you stain anything with acid? (9) Describe helium 
afid tell its composition. (10) What are planetary electrons? 
\11) Name some of the atoms composing the world. (12) 
What does air consist of? (13) Describe the composition of 
sea water. (14) What is a current of electricity? (15) What 
is a vacuum? (16) What happens when a liquid is heated? 
(17) Describe what happens when the wire in a vacuum tube 
is heated. (18) Describe a three-electrode vacuum tube. 
(19) What is an electrical circuit? (20) Of what use is the 
grid in an audion bulb? 

(1) Aside from entertainment, is the radio of value to man¬ 
kind? How? 

(2) In what way should you like to see the radio improved? 

(3) When was the first radio made? Find out all that you 
can about its beginnings. 

(4) In your lifetime what great inventions have made rapid 
strides? What do you think the next step forward will be? 

(5) Write and act a play, depicting a modern family listen¬ 
ing to a radio. Have Benjamin Franklin enter, and show his 
surprise at all the electrical inventions in everyday use. 


AGASSIZ AT PENIKESE 

(1) Why did Agassiz like America? (2) Give some of 
Agassiz’s ideas about teaching. (3) How did he manage his 
department of Natural History at Harvard? (4) How was 
natural history taught originally in schools? (5) How is it 
taught in your school today? Which method is the more 
interesting to students? (6) How did Agassiz go about rem¬ 
edying the methods of teaching? (7) Was he successful? 
(8) Where is Penikese? (9) Describe Agassiz’s school there. 
(10) Look up Whittier’s poem “ The Prayer of Agassiz.” (11) 
Who was Humboldt? 

(1) Find out where famous marine biological laboratories 
are located. Describe one of them, and tell of the life there. 

(2) Of what practical value is it to find out about the ani¬ 
mal and vegetable life of the ocean? 

(3) Read The Arcturus Adventure by William Beebe, and 
report to the class on something of interest from it. 

(4) Certain marine animals cause great losses to owners 


336 THE WORLD OF SCIENCE 

of wooden vessels. Find out what they are and what damage 
they do. 

(5) One of the most important products of the ocean is 
the fish which we catch and can to eat. Arrange an oral dia¬ 
logue between two boys, one of whom has seen a fish cannery, 
the other of whom has been out in a fishing boat. 


ICE-PERIOD IN AMERICA 

(1) How far did the ancient glacier over eastern North 
America extend? (2) How. do we know this? (3) Is there 
any east to west barrier in America which might impede the 
progress of a glacier? (4) Were there any local glaciers in 
eastern North America in the past such as we find in Switzer¬ 
land today? Explain your answer. (5) How does it happen 
that bowlders of northern rock are found on the plains of Iowa 
and Illinois? (6) What are some evidences of glacial ac¬ 
tion? (7) Find out whether the locality in which you live 
shows any traces of the work of glaciers. (8) Why have 
scientists been slow to admit the existence of glaciers over 
America? (9) What happened when the American glacier 
reached small hills? How do we know this? (10) What mainly 
determines the course of glaciers? (11) Are there at present 
any remains of the glacial period existing in North America? 
Describe. (12) How did Agassiz measure the thickness of the 
ice sheet in North America? 

(1) Make a map of North America, showing by shading 
just how far south the glacier extended. 

(2) Find out whether there are any evidences of glacial 
action in your vicinity. If so, go to look at them and write a 
description of what you see. If not, find the nearest point 
that the glacier touched, and find out what the landscape is 
like there. 

(3) What sort of animals have been found embalmed in ice? 
Are there any similar ones in the Arctic regions today? 

(4) Are there any glaciers today in North America? Find 
out what you can about them, whether they have been ex¬ 
plored, whether they are diminishing, and anything else of 
interest. 

(5) Glaciers have a tremendous effect upon the soil. Choose 
one state in the United States that has been glaciated, and 
discover what you can concerning the soil there. Is it fertile, 


QUESTIONS AND PROJECTS 337 

is it all alike, are there many lakes and streams in the stale 1 
Make a map showing the effect the glacier has had. 

(6) Cattle thrive better where the soil is of a certain char¬ 
acter. Find out why this is and whether the glacial action 
has had anything to do with it. 

(7) What everyday evidences have we that water in freez¬ 
ing has pushing power? If the temperature permits, demon¬ 
strate this to the class. 





























